This AU idea came from a conversation reylobitch and I were having on Tumblr after seeing a pic of Adam Driver in a leather jacket. And last night I sent a couple songs that reminded the of a Biker Reylo AU to her and now here we are. If you're curious, listen to "Tell That Devil" by Jill Andrews and "Dark Nights" by Dorothy. I actually have an entire music playlist for this fic now but those two songs are what started it.
The Jakku desert was not for the faint of heart. It stretched on for miles in either direction with no end it sight. In the middle of the wasteland, the town of Niima had stood for nearly a hundred years. Blink and you'd miss it as you drove through.
Plutt's Bar sat among a handful of other buildings that'd all seen better days. Momma Leia's Diner was just across the single lane highway. Its flashing neon sign signaled it was "Open" and served the "Best Coffee In Town."
Motorcycles frequently lined the dirt ground in front of the bar. Their presence deterred most people from evening stopping for gas at Quike-Mart. Instead, they'd chance the endless road to the next town. The Snoke Motel had never once lit the "No" on its Vacancy sign; the only people who stayed there were the bikers too drunk to ride.
On the surface, Niima was a shit hole run by the biker gangs that frequented the bar. But it was much more sinister than that. The desert had a reputation for consuming the souls who dared to stay too long. Entire families had gone missing; the only evidence left behind, their abandoned cars on the side of the road. Some had flat tires, some empty gas tanks. But they all had one thing in common, the people were gone without a trace. No blood stains, no signs of a struggle. It were as if they'd simply walked away, into the desert to never be seen again.
The theories surrounding the mystery of the desert ranged from aliens to demons to a serial killer. Every theory claimed to have evidence to support its claims. But it'd been several years since the last disappearances. Conspiracy theorists had grown bored waiting for another one to fuel their claims and eventually the only person who still cared was the local sheriff.
The Sheriff had long ago stop trying to make sense of the disappearances. His theory was a Satanic Occult but he'd only voice this opinion once he'd had a few shots at Plutt's.
Rey didn't care one way or another. She'd heard every rant the sheriff had fired off but try as he might, his stories didn't frighten her.
She'd called Niima home for a few years now. She'd taken up residence at the motel and worked behind the bar at Plutt's. Each day, she woke up around noon and crossed the street for her breakfast coffee from the gas station. Lunch, around four, was peanuts from the bar while she passed the beginning of her shift waiting for the bikers to straggle in. Dinner was at Momma Leia's, usually the same medium rare bacon cheeseburger with fries and a Dr. Pepper. Sometimes she'd switch it up and order a chef salad to make herself feel like she had somewhat decent eating habits.
People came and went. Rey hardly ever bothered to learn names or memorize faces. She liked Niima for its solitude. Despite its sinister reputation, the Jakku desert was Rey's home and sanctuary. Dark forces be damned.
The wooden door creaked and groaned as Rey forced it open. The bar was dark, the afternoon light spilling in behind her did little to illuminate the pool tables and barstools. In the corner near the jukebox, Plutt snored in a heap on the floor.
"Just where I left you," Rey sighed.
The bar owner was a beast of a man. He'd drink until he passed out. Some nights he managed to make it upstairs to his apartment above the bar. But mostly, Rey left him to sleep off the whiskey.
"Hey!" She kicked his outstretched foot. "Plutt wake up!"
The man grunted and rolled his head to the other side but didn't get up.
"It's two o'clock in the fucking afternoon," Rey grumbled under her breath. The bar didn't open until three but she wasn't in the mood to deal with Plutt's drunken ass today.
Setting her coffee and black bag down on the bartop, Rey shrugged off her leather jacket and tossed it down next to the steaming cup.
She'd developed a routine for opening and closing the bar. At night, she'd count down the register first, then wipe down the bar, wash the dishes. She'd stack the chairs on the few tables scattered about and the stools on the bar. She even moped the floor, though no amount of bleach could clean the grime off the wooden floor. In the mornings, it was just a reverse process. Turn on the lights, the jukebox - she gave Plutt another kick while over there but again he just grunted- set the stools and chairs back down. Stock up the bar for the night, put the tray back into the register with just enough money to make change.
By the time she'd finished, Plutt was stirring and mumbling to himself.
Rey leaned against the rough edge of the bartop with a pint glass and rag in hand. She set to polishing the water stained glasses as she watched Plutt pull himself out of the heap he'd been on the floor.
"What time is it?" Plutt squinted at the dimly light bar as if it were too bright for him.
"Nearly three," Rey replied.
Plutt finally looked at her, running his hung-over gaze up and down her. "You look like shit," he stated.
Rey rolled her eyes. This was his typical greeting. Plutt had made it very clear from the beginning he was in no way attracted to her slender form. He claimed her body was that of a lanky teenage boy and no customer would tip a woman with a flat chest and ass. He'd hired her with the condition she'd have to wear make-up so as not to be confused for a boy.
Sexist pig.
Despite the horrible owner, Rey liked her job. It was familiar and stable and paid for her to continue living in solitude.
"You're one to talk," Rey snapped back.
Plutt's shirt was stained with beer and whiskey. There was a red spot on his stomach from where ketchup had fallen from the fries he'd been shoving into his mouth last night. And he reeked. She could smell him from across the room.
"Go fix yourself up," Plutt raised a fat finger to point towards the bathroom in the far corner. Staggering towards the stairs to his right, he left Rey presumably so he could fix himself up.
Rey rolled her eyes but set the glass and rag down. Usually, she'd put on her make-up before Plutt could make his horrible comments, but this morning she hadn't felt like it. Instead, throwing what little make-up she owned in her black bag with the intent to apply it before opening. She retrieved it now and went to "fix" her face.
The single light bulb hanging down from the ceiling flickered and buzzed as Rey flipped on the switch. The single stall bathroom was about the size of a broom closet and had seen better days. No matter how often Rey cleaned it, it looked just as dingy and grimey as the bar it was in. The paint was peeling off the wall. The toilet had a crack in the seat. The mirror hanging above the sink was crooked and had a crack in the bottom right corner. The sink was so rusted, when you first turned on the water, it was stained brown.
Fortunately for Rey, she didn't need to apply much makeup to satisfy the sexist pig. Her skin was smooth without a blemish. All she really had to do was apply some eye make-up around her chestnut eyes and add some red lipstick to her plump lips.
Despite Plutt's outright disdain for her looks, Rey received plenty in tips and several come ons. The drunker the person, the easier she could flirt more tips out of them. Men, women, it didn't matter. Money was money.
One last check to make sure there wasn't any red lipstick on her teeth, and Rey was finished. She flipped off the light and went back to polishing the glasses.
Just another day in an endless cycle of days that were the same as the one before and the one to follow.
Kylo Ren flicked his cigarette butt onto the hard dirt ground. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Leaning up against his bike, Kylo looked around the desert wasteland. The sun was setting, casting a pale purple hue across the surrounding buildings.
"This place is a shit hole," another biker growled. Wulf had run into the gas station to take a piss. The rest had waited outside, smoking cigarettes and checking their bikes.
The Knights of Ren were just passing through. They'd toss back some beers, maybe a few shots, and eventually be on their way. Niima wasn't their territory. It was First Order's territory. Kylo didn't see any of them around at the moment but he did not want to deal with that reunion.
"It's not so bad," Kylo shrugged. "There's a bar at least." Kylo nodded his chin towards the general direction of Plutt's Bar.
Wulf grunted his approval as he loaded a pack of cigarettes into the saddle bag on his bike. Of the Knights, only Wulf came close to reaching Kylo's height. But where Kylo was broad, Wulf was slender, though he certainly wasn't lacking in strength. It was why Kylo had made him his second.
"What's the plan, boss?" Another biker walked over from his bike.
"Get fucking wasted, obviously," Wulf chuckled.
Kylo ignored the other man and instead turned to Ash. "We'll stay here for a few hours but I want to make it to the next town before we stop for the night."
"Why don't we just stay at Snoke's Motel and then ride on tomorrow?" Ash crossed his hairy arms over his chest. He was the biggest of them all but also the shortest. Kylo swore the man could tackle a freight train and walk away unharmed.
"No," Kylo shook his head and glanced around once more. "This town is a shit hole."
Once the sun set, the hell hounds came out to play. They flocked from whatever hole they'd been hiding in into Plutt's Bar. They shouted out for beer, whiskey, bourbon. Rey had never made a mixed drink the entire time she'd worked behind the bar. No one ordered anything that wasn't a beer or straight alcohol.
Rey finally had a moment to breath, to lean back against the counter and eye the crowd around her. It was far enough into the evening that if someone wasn't drunk then they were at least tipsy. Meaning the worst of her shift was over. Drunk people she could handle. They either flirted with her or left her alone until they needed another drink. Sober people weren't black and white. They played games.
The bar door slammed open, sending the bell above it shaking violently. A brief hush fell throughout the bar as people looked to the new group of men and women entering the bar.
"Door sticks," the man explained to the room.
Without further explanation needed, the crowd went back to playing pool and taking shots as if nothing had happened.
Rey hadn't seen this biker gang before. There were seven in total, three women and four men, all clad in various leather clothes and shades of black. Six of them broke away to claim a table in the far corner near the bathroom. With their backs to her, Rey noted the large red letters embroidered on the backs of their jackets. "Knights of Ren" they all said.
The man who had shoved the door opened, approached the bar. He was the tallest of the gang. His dark hair fell in waves around his face, stopping just at chin length. A slight beard framed a set of full lips. When his dark eyes fell on her, Rey swore she was looking at the Devil himself.
"Open me a tab," he ordered, tossing down a black credit card to the counter.
Slapping her hand over the card, Rey glared at him and then turned to open a tab, which really just meant she kept the card with a sheet of paper to track the orders until the customer was ready to close out their tab. It was an archaic way to do it but Niima wasn't exactly up-to-date with technology.
Rey had a special lock box just for all the cards customers had left behind. Sometimes people came back. Most just canceled their card and got a new one. At least that's what Rey assumed they did.
"Rey!" Plutt's voices bellowed out from across the bar. He'd been playing pool with a couple regulars, no doubt betting away any of the earnings the bar was bringing in tonight. "Another round of shots over here! On the house!" The group at the pool table cheered and raised their glasses to the bar owner.
"Typical," Rey muttered under her breath. She turned back to the man and began pulling out shot glasses. "What can I get you?"
The man turned his attention from Plutt back to her. "Your best whiskey, on the rocks. And whatever they want." He pointed to his gang in the corner.
"They'll have to come up and order. I'm not a waitress." Rey poured four shots of the Evan Williams black label. She reached down to place a whiskey glass on the counter.
"Surely that's not your best whiskey?" The man sounded appalled.
"Fuck no," Rey scoffed, placing the bottle back on the shelf behind her. "What kind of 'best' are you looking for?" she asked the man.
"Excuse me?"
"Are you looking for the most expensive to impress your friends or the one that actually tastes the best?"
"Taste," he replied simply.
"Old Forester," Rey nodded mostly to herself. She poured a tiny amount into the glass then slid it over to him. "Try it first."
He lifted the glass to his lips and threw the drink back. "Excellent," he stated, though his tone didn't sound like he actually thought it was excellent. He slammed the glass back down and motioned for her to pour more.
Rey filled the glass with ice and poured more of the whiskey into it. Once the man had his drink in hand, Rey collected the four shots in her hands and delivered them to her asshole of a boss.
She was making her way back to the bar when she got a front row seat to all hell breaking loose.
There was a grunt and the sound of shattering glass. The bar fell silent.
"You fucking asshole!" It was the man who'd just ordered the whiskey. Without warning, he grabbed the poor drunkard by the shirt and punched him square in the nose.
The bar erupted in shouts of encouragement. Even Plutt egged the fight on. Though it wasn't much of a fight. The drunkard had apparently run into the other man and spilled the whiskey he'd been carrying. Which was a shame really; that was the best whiskey they served.
"Fuck," Rey growled.
Bar fights were the worse. No one was going to call the cops but no one was going to try and stop it either. No, that fell on Rey to do, being as she was the only sober person ever present.
Behind the counter, Rey kept a double barrelled shotgun just for this kind of occasion. She grabbed it and climbed up on top of the wooden bar. She didn't tolerate bar brawls. It just meant things got broken and she had to clean it up.
"Hey!" she shouted over the roar of the crowd.
But the man either didn't hear her or didn't care. He'd knocked the drunk man to the ground and was laying into him. Blood stained his knuckles.
"Knock it off!" Rey yelled, raising the gun up, hoping it would catch his attention. "Fuck it," Rey growled.
No one was paying any attention to her. They were too distracted with blood lust.
She aimed the barrel of the gun at the ceiling and fired off a warning shot, effectively drawing every eye in the room to her.
The man's fist froze where he'd drawn it back, intent on teaching the drunkard a lesson.
"I said," Rey snarled at him, her voice easily carrying across the silent bar. "Fuck off."
Now that setting and characters are all in place, I can move forward with some smut. This fic will not be slow burn and I can assure you it will have an abundant amount of smut and general Reylo sexiness. My other Reylo fic, The Balance Restored, is a slow burn fic in the canon universe and that slow burn is gonna kill me. Gotta let out the sexual frustration that fic is causing me. And because I can never just write straight smut, there is gonna be lots of plot too. This was gonna be a normal AU but I've been binge watching Wynonna Earp again on Netflix so Niima has turned into a paranormal-y town. Just FYI.
Anyways, let me know what you think! Feedback fuels my inspiration!