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isagi doesn’t look like trouble at first. that’s the problem. he’s the kind of biker who wears a simple black jacket, no flashy patches, no chains – until you realize every other biker on the road gives him space.
his bike is pristine. matte navy blue. not a scratch on it. he maintains it like it’s an extension of his body, wiping grease off his hands with that focused little frown that already makes you feel insane.
when you climb onto the back of his bike for the first time, he pauses. actually pauses. turns his head just enough to say, “hold on tight, okay?” like it’s sweet and considerate – except his voice drops at the end, and you realize he knows exactly what that implies.
isagi rides smooth, but fast. calculated. he leans just enough that your body presses into his back, and he adjusts instantly, shifting to keep you steady like he’s been mapping your balance the entire time.
one hand stays firm on the throttle, the other briefly covers yours where you’re gripping his jacket. grounding. reassuring. possessive in the quietest way.
he glances back at red lights, helmet visor lifted just enough so you can see his eyes flick to your lips before snapping back to the road like he didn’t just think something he shouldn’t.
after rides, he’s flushed, hair messy from the helmet, jacket half-unzipped. still gentle. still polite. still very aware of how close you’re standing.
everyone expects him to be soft. they don’t see how he positions himself between you and other riders without thinking. they don’t hear the low warning in his voice when someone looks too long.
isagi doesn’t need to be loud about wanting you. he’s already decided. the road just makes it obvious.
itoshi rin
rin is all sharp edges and bad decisions on two wheels. black leather, scuffed boots, gloves that look like they’ve seen fights they won.
his bike is loud. unapologetic. it snarls when he revs it, and he does it on purpose because he knows it makes your stomach flip.
he doesn’t ask if you want a ride. he tosses you the spare helmet and waits. arms crossed. jaw tight. daring you.
when you get on, he mutters, “don’t let go.” not romantic. not gentle. a command.
rin rides aggressively. fast turns. sudden accelerations. you cling to him because you have to, hands gripping his jacket, thighs locking in, and he feels all of it.
he never acknowledges it, but the way his shoulders relax just a fraction tells you he likes knowing you’re holding on.
at stops, he leans forward so you’re caged in by his body and the bike, visor lifted, eyes burning into you like he’s deciding something dangerous.
other bikers know better than to flirt with you when rin’s around. the glare alone could start a fire.
after rides, he pulls off his helmet and runs a hand through his hair, breathing heavy, adrenaline buzzing. he doesn’t look at you right away because if he does, he might snap.
rin doesn’t flirt. he claims. the bike, the road, the silence between you where everything unsaid feels louder than words.
itoshi sae
sae rides like the world belongs to him. custom bike. expensive leather jacket that somehow never looks worn, just lived in.
he doesn’t speed unnecessarily. he glides. smooth turns, controlled power, like he’s always ten steps ahead of the road.
when he hands you a helmet, he smirks. “try to keep up.” as if you won’t be pressed against him the entire ride.
he places your hands on his waist himself before taking off. slow. deliberate. fingers lingering just long enough to feel criminal.
sae rides one-handed sometimes, relaxed, confident, like nothing could touch him. the other hand settles over yours when the road gets rough, not because he needs it, but because he wants you closer.
mirrors always angled just right so he can see you behind him. your reactions. your grip tightening. the way your lips part when he accelerates.
at stops, he twists slightly so you’re almost chest to back, his voice low in your ear. “you good?” already knowing the answer.
off the bike, he removes his gloves slowly, eyes never leaving you. jacket still on. zipper halfway down. menace.
other bikers respect him. some fear him. all of them know you’re off-limits.
sae treats riding with you like a privilege. like something earned. and god, he makes sure you feel chosen.
nagi seishiro
nagi rides like he does everything else: effortlessly. no wasted movement. no visible tension. it’s unfair.
oversized jacket, hoodie underneath, helmet always slightly tilted like he didn’t bother fixing it properly. still looks insanely good.
he sighs when you ask for a ride, but hands you the helmet anyway. “fine… don’t fall.”
when you get on, he barely reacts, but the moment your arms wrap around him, he settles back just enough to rest against you.
nagi rides surprisingly fast, cutting through traffic with lazy confidence, like the road is doing the work for him.
he leans into turns without warning, trusting you’ll hold on. you always do.
sometimes he reaches back mid-ride, hooks a finger in your sleeve or belt loop, and tugs you closer like it’s no big deal.
at red lights, he rests his helmet against yours. visor tapping yours lightly. “comfy?” half-asleep voice, devastating effect.
after rides, he doesn’t even fully dismount before pulling you in closer, forehead against your shoulder, muttering about being tired.
nagi doesn’t act possessive. but the way he refuses to let anyone else give you a ride says everything.
mikage reo
reo’s bike is custom, flashy, expensive, and absolutely powerful. just like him.
matching helmet for you. padded seat. heated grips. he’s thought of everything.
he helps you on every time, hands firm at your waist, murmuring, “got you,” like a promise.
reo rides fast, but only when he knows you’re ready. he checks mirrors constantly, adjusting his pace to keep you comfortable.
one hand often reaches back to squeeze your thigh reassuringly. casual. intimate. drives you insane.
he laughs when you cling tighter during sharp turns, voice bright over the engine. “you’re cute like that.”
other bikers flirt with him. reo shuts it down immediately by pulling you closer, arm slung back, zero hesitation.
after rides, he pulls off his helmet with that smug smile, hair messy, cheeks flushed. immediately asks if you had fun.
he’s the type to buy matching jackets just because he likes the way you look together.
reo treats riding with you like a shared adventure. something special. something he wants to keep forever.
bachira meguru
bachira’s bike is loud in a fun way – custom paint, neon accents, something that shouldn’t work but absolutely does. it matches his energy perfectly.
he grins when he hands you a helmet, eyes bright. “this is gonna be fun, yeah?” like he’s inviting you into trouble instead of traffic.
when you hop on, he wiggles the bike just a little on purpose, laughing when you squeak and grab onto him.
bachira rides fast, weaving, playful. he leans hard into turns like it’s a game, trusting you completely to move with him.
he talks while riding – yelling commentary through the helmet mic, laughing when you cling tighter. “hehe, you’re doing great!”
sometimes he reaches back just to poke your side or tap your knee, like he can’t resist reminding you he’s there.
at red lights, he twists around to look at you, visor up, eyes shining. “you’re having fun, right?” already knowing you are.
other bikers don’t know what to do with him. too unpredictable. too happy. too confident.
after rides, he pulls you into his chest immediately, still buzzing with energy, rocking side to side like he wants to go again.
bachira rides like the road is his playground, and you’re his favorite partner.
shidou ryusei
shidou’s bike is huge. loud. obnoxious. you hear it before you see him.
leather jacket hanging off his shoulders, helmet tucked under one arm, grin sharp and dangerous. he looks like a bad decision that already knows your name.
he doesn’t offer you a helmet at first. just looks you up and down and laughs. “you trust me that much?”
when you climb on, he grabs your thighs to steady you – firm, unapologetic – and absolutely does not apologize.
shidou rides like he’s chasing adrenaline. fast launches, brutal turns, engine roaring like it’s alive.
he loves when you cling to him, laughs loud and wild when your grip tightens. “yeah, that’s it ~ hold on!”
at stops, he leans back just enough to bump helmets with you, voice low and teasing. “still alive back there?”
other bikers keep their distance. shidou thrives on it.
after rides, he’s flushed, breathing hard, grin feral. pulls off his helmet and looks at you like you just survived something together.
riding with shidou feels like controlled chaos, and somehow, he never lets you fall.
karasu tabito
karasu’s bike is sleek, dark, and intimidating in a quiet way. no flash. all power.
he sizes you up before handing you a helmet, smirking. “ya gonna behave back there?”
when you get on, he reaches back and adjusts your grip himself, fingers lingering. “like that. don’t wanna lose ya.”
he knows exactly how close you are at all times – adjusts his posture just enough to keep you pressed in.
mirrors tilted so he can see you. always watching. always aware.
at red lights, he leans his helmet back against yours, voice low and amused. “yer quieter now.”
other bikers respect him. he’s not loud, but everyone knows not to cross him.
after rides, he removes his gloves slowly, eyes flicking over you like he’s checking for damage.
karasu rides like a strategist. every move deliberate. especially when it comes to you.
kaiser michael
kaiser’s bike is immaculate. expensive. custom. he knows it turns heads and enjoys every second.
leather jacket tailored to fit him perfectly, boots polished, helmet designed to match. everything about him screams control.
he hands you a helmet with a smug smile. “try not to fall for me back there.”
when you get on, he waits until you’re settled, then starts slow, just to build anticipation.
kaiser rides confidently, fast when he wants to be, smooth when it matters. one hand on the throttle, the other casually resting over yours.
he glances at reflections constantly – store windows, mirrors – checking how you look together (he’s obsessed).
at stops, he turns his head slightly, smirk visible under the visor. “comfortable?” knowing damn well you are.
other bikers bristle around him. ego clashes everywhere. kaiser doesn’t care.
after rides, he removes his helmet with dramatic flair, hair perfect despite everything. looks at you like you’re part of his victory.
kaiser rides like the world is watching, and you’re proof he’s winning.
ness alexis
ness’s bike isn’t flashy, but it’s well-kept, loved. he’s clearly proud of it.
he’s nervous the first time you ride with him, adjusting your helmet straps himself, mumbling reminders to hold on tight.
when you get on, he stiffens, then relaxes once you wrap your arms around him.
ness rides carefully at first, hyper-aware of every bump and turn. constantly checking mirrors.
as he gains confidence, he starts riding smoother, faster, trusting both himself and you.
he blushes hard when you lean closer, but doesn’t pull away. actually presses back just a little.
at stops, he glances back, eyes soft behind the visor. “are you okay?” every time.
other bikers underestimate him. big mistake.
after rides, he’s flustered, flushed, smiling uncontrollably, like he just experienced something sacred.
riding with ness feels intimate. personal. like you’re the only one he wants behind him. because you are.
yukimiya kenyu
yukimiya’s bike is elegant and sharp, almost pretty – sleek lines, polished chrome, something that catches light when it moves. he knows how it looks. he likes how it looks.
he insists on riding at golden hour. always. says the road feels better then, but really he just likes the way the light stretches everything into something beautiful.
when he gives you a helmet, he makes sure it fits perfectly, fingers careful at the strap. “tell me if it’s uncomfortable,” he says softly, eyes lingering.
yukimiya rides smooth and controlled, not reckless, but fast enough to make your breath hitch. every turn feels intentional, like choreography.
he leans into curves gracefully, body moving like he’s dancing with the road, and you move with him, pressed close, heartbeat syncing with the engine.
at red lights, he tilts his head just enough to glance back at you through the visor, smiling when he sees you watching him.
other bikers stare. yukimiya pretends not to notice, but his posture changes subtly, like he’s showing off for you.
after rides, he removes his helmet slowly, hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed. looks almost unreal under the streetlights.
he asks, quietly, “did you enjoy it?” like your answer matters more than anything else.
riding with yukimiya feels like being inside a movie scene – beautiful, intense, and a little bittersweet until the moment you get to ride again.
barou shoei
barou’s bike is massive. loud. dominant. it announces him before he even parks.
he wears thick leather, heavy boots, gloves worn in just right. everything about him says authority.
when he offers you a ride, it’s not a question. “get on.” and somehow, you do immediately.
he lifts you onto the bike himself the first time, hands firm at your waist, placing you exactly where he wants you.
Every time I remember Yukimiya will inevitably become blind, something in me shatters.
Because I imagine him being afraid. Afraid of being unworthy of love once he loses his vision completely. Afraid of forgetting your face. Of not being able to see you and becoming a burden.
He knows you don't deserve to date - let alone marry - a blind man. He thinks it'll only bring you problems - you deserve someone completely healthy. Someone who can see you and tell you you're looking beautiful when you wear a certain dress. Someone who can compliment the way your new hair color matches with your eyes. Someone who can look at every trait and every curve in your face, not only in memory.
He thought about breaking up many times already. He started conversations about this, too. But every time you assure him you won't give up on him, his heart aches - mostly because he wants to believe you. He wants to stay with you. He wants you to see him the same way he wants to see you.
So, he stays. You stay. He wants to be selfish just this once - and see if love really is blind, like everyone says.
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If it's worth doing, it's worth doing halfway. If you can't eat a whole sandwich, eating just some of it (or anything, really) is better than nothing. If you can't brush your teeth, swishing water around your mouth helps more than doing nothing. If you can't drink plain water, drinking seltzer or tea or anything is better than drinking absolutely nothing.
U mfs on here genuinely make me sick sometimes cuz why are you in your 20s some of you pushing 30 writing smut about lil kids, i just saw someone saying this and they got absolutely dragged for liking sukuna and toji cuz theyre “child murderers” not only are they full grown adults (which the kids you write for r not), theyre the VILLAINS OF THE STORY!!! they’re obviously gonna do messed up shit because thats what they were written to do just like the KIDS are written to be KIDS ofc theyre gonna be immature and “inexperienced” They’re KIDS and that fact that you’re attracted to that is strange. fictional or not thats weird as fuck‼️
ON TOP OF THAT HAVING THE AUDACITY TO PUT MDNI LIKE YOU ARENT WRITING FOR SOMEONE WHOS CANONICALLY A MINOR BYEEEE LMFAO i understand not wanting kids to interact with u but having the audacity to do that because its smut for lemme say it again a KID is crazy
“Oh but yuuji was born in 2003 blah blah blah” the yuuji you have in mind when you write ts is the 15 year old you see in the anime cuz there IS NO AGED UP YUJI
“Oh but you write about them too” not only do i not write smut about the minors i write for but im 15 not a grown ass woman whats your fucking excuse 👎🏽
Age them up if you want but dont get mad when someone calls u a pedophile in your replies later
And ig if you get offended then this post was about u lmao hi
yalll i saw a tweet about how some of guys don't know that epel is meant to be sámi, not a southern american??? babes... he's very sámi. just as the original tweet said, not everything his "gringo-centric"
i suggest really looking into the sámi people and the oppression they face by their governments!! the 1960s saw a wave of forced assimilation in norway. culture and language is constantly under threat, with children having not been allowed to speak their native languages in educational settings. this oppression goes all the way back to the 15th/16th century, and it is not unique to norway. there have been campaigns to eradicate their customs, language and religious practices for centuries.
like, y'all, there's heavy inspiration, especially in the collars!! these intricate designs and the jewelry... my goodness this is so pretty???
correct me if im wrong, but the term gákti is used to describe these garments. there have been controversies over finnish people dressing up in fake gákti and performing "traditional rituals" for tourists. this is extremely similar to various other cultures. the act of exoticizing and orientalizing the sámi people and their culture serves no purpose but to fill the pockets of non-sámi capitalists who oppress them.
on that note, when writing epel fics please stop with the southern american shenanigans, especially when the culture he is implied to be from has actively been eradicated for centuries.
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I feel that people in recent times have ruined an entire generation.
There are literally sick people who are writing as if they were sick with the topic of incest and all its derivatives, as if it were a damn new game that came out on the market.
If I'm honest, I'm afraid that these people have a little brother or sister because of the content they consume.
Because if these people have siblings, imagine if they rape their younger sister or brother or abuse them.
Let me ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me: if that is their fetish, do you think they wouldn't do it if they didn't have the opportunity? Do you really think that readers and writers only read and write for pleasure or because they know they can't take advantage of someone because they know there are consequences for their actions, and they decide to bring out all those types of fantasies in "fictional characters"?
As the younger sister of two brothers, it doesn't fit into my head to read something like that, because I know what it's like to have siblings, take care of them, and love them. I can't put myself in those people's shoes because I don't understand them; I don't understand their sick fetishes or how they enjoy them.
I just wanted to get everything off my chest because I couldn't take it anymore with everything that's going around on Tumblr.
It feels like you're on a page full of pedophiles and incestuous people. Seriously, it's disgusting.
And even though you haven't read any of that content, it's disgusting, and no, you can't forget it because you know it's going around on the internet- and you saw it, you know it's there, and you can't do anything about it or even forget it.
You may think I'm exaggerating but in the part of the world where I live there are homicides and abuses against women. You literally see every day on the damn news how a woman or girl was abused or disappeared...
Do you know what I saw the other day? a case in which a three-year-old girl was abused by her older brother and cousin.
and then you start thinking about the sick people who genuinely enjoy that damn content. maybe if those people lived the same fear that I and the other women in my country suffer when we go out on the street or meet strangers, they would come to their senses.
[ID: a screenshot of a discord message from user @Taikeero-Lecoredier which reads: "@everyone
‼️URGENT: KOSA has been officially introduced in the House as of today.
We need to spread the word on social media and urge people to send emails to Congress through stopkosa.com.
https://www.stopkosa.com/
• There will be a hearing on Wednesday (17th April) where KOSA, along with some other bad internet bills, like the Protecting Kids on Social Media Act could be pushed.
• We will be having a calling day on TUESDAY (16 th April) to make clear to Congress that there is still a ton of opposition to these bills.
• House Energy and Commerce is holding the hearing so they are the best offices to call this week ‼️
https://energycommerce.house.gov/representatives
DONT FORGET: You can go to what-to-write-and-say and check pins to know what to say !!
• You can use http://badinternetbills.com/ to contact your congress people!
• And https://www.house.gov/representatives/find-your-representative to find all of the phone numbers of your House Representative, and faxzero.com to send up to 5 free faxes a day
SPREAD THE WORD !!" End ID]
^^ PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD AND CALL, EMAIL AND FAX YOUR REPS ASAP!!
here's another site where you can find your Reps if the one provided above gives you trouble.
here's a perma link to the Stop Internet Censorship Discord, where there are loads of resources and petitions to sign and actions you can take to keep the Internet censorship free.
when rest and "lazy days" stop being optional, you eventually stop enjoying it. i don't even know how to relax anymore. there's barely any relaxation in rest for me, it's all forced by a sick body.
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one aspect of disability that people don't often talk about is grief. grief plays a massive part in my life.
before becoming disabled, i had so many dreams that i know now aren't feasible. i would have loved to go to uni and pursue a degree in psychology and go on to become a therapist, but i know i wouldn't be able to go to uni now.
i'm grieving the could-have-beens and what my body used to be like.
i used to like running short distance and i loved dungeons & dragons. now, i wouldn't be able to be present long enough to actually play a campaign, and the last time i raced my mate down the road, i ended up in bed for the week in a flare up. (i'm an idiot i know)
grief is such a big part of being disabled that people don't talk about enough.
i'm proud of my disabled identity. i never fully recovered from an illness and gained multiple chronic illnesses/lifelong disabilities from it, so damn right i'm going to embrace the changes, but i will always think about the what-ifs.
my disability is a part of me as a person and my identity but that doesn't mean that i still don't grieve for who i was or could have been.
i am not less worthy because i am disabled and i can still grieve and be proud of my disabled identity simultaneously.
thanks for listening to my TEDtalk now i'm probably going to take a nap because writing all that really hurt my arms and i'm tired.
snowghoul
yousharknotpass
discoholicmusic
prguitarman
