#learning to drive i gotta use this before i can drive

[lunar-moths-sys]

I CANT EVEN DRIVE  I JUST NEEDED SOMETHING TO ROMANTICISE MY DESPERATE LIFE 

[saintobio]

⊹★⋆ two wheels and a hot guy.

pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader tags. 1k wc, biker boy x biker girl au, non-sorcerer au, crack, fluff, dirty jokes (?), satoru rides an s1k, biker!sukuna mentions, same au as my other fic. sparked by a random idea bcos why haven't we thought abt biker!gojo honestly? he would be so funny on tiktok if he was a biker boy lmao

You’ve all heard about Biker!Sukuna. That famous biker boy on biketok who has tattoos and rides a blacked out Yamaha R1. 

But have you heard about Biker!Gojou? 

Well… For starters, Satoru Gojou wasn’t a seasoned biker. 

In fact, he was more of a poser than anything, but you’d never catch him admitting that. His prized BMW S1000RR, the crown jewel of superbikes, was more about image than skill. The sleek, aggressive lines of the machine, combined with the prestige of the BMW logo, were all he needed to keep up appearances on TikTok. And he learned that appearances were everything, especially when Sukuna, with his obnoxious face tattoos and natural charisma, hogged the limelight (especially from all the girls!) with every post, even with a girlfriend already in tow. The sheer audacity of that scum was enough to drive Satoru up the wall. Fine, he had to admit. He was jealous of Sukuna’s popularity and the fact that he snatched a cute booktok girlfriend as his backpack. 

Suguru, his best friend and fellow biker, didn’t let him forget it either. As they stood by their bikes outside Barnes & Noble to spot booktok girls, Suguru glanced at Satoru’s liter bike and smirked. 

“Pretentious motherfucker,” he muttered, slinging a leg over his Yamaha MT-10, the less flashy but undeniably badass naked bike. Unlike Gojou, Suguru didn’t care about clout. The MT-10 was all about raw power and agility, the kind of bike a real rider appreciated. “You only got that thing because it’s a BMW. You gonna actually ride it for real one of these days?”

“Shut up.” Satoru rolled his eyes, adjusting his white Alpinestars riding gloves while holding his phone up to go live on TikTok. Starting with a 1000cc as a beginner bike wasn’t a very wise choice, but still... “People love the S1K, you know that.”

And let me tell you about Satoru’s favorite time of the day (or night). It was whenever he would go live, and the comments would pour in as soon as his stream started. That was when he could lavish in his social media presence the most.

user19463: Bro, when are you gonna show us some actual riding content?

anon875biker: All that thirst trapping. Bet you don’t even take that thing out of the garage. 

harleysRbetter: U punks R ruining the riding community! 

Gojou grinned at the screen, winking at both his followers and haters. “Alright, boomers, calm down. I’ll post some riding content soon. Don’t cry too much before then, yeah?”

r1.skn: Sir, can you do wheelies? 

Suguru found that comment hilarious, recognizing the username and knowing exactly who it belonged to—Sukuna. But Satoru’s competitive nature kicked in instantly while he continued to scroll through the comments. “Yeah, I can do wheelies. Ignore Sukuna, guys. Focus on me!”

msbikerluvr: Still looking for a backpack, Gojou? Lmao.

“About the backpack… you know, I’m just waiting for the right one. Applications are still open—” He was about to launch into another witty retort when a sound cut through the chatter of his stream—it was a deep, throaty rev that sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. Satoru’s head immediately whipped to the direction of the sound, just in time to see a flash of race blue zipping down the street.

There you were, riding a Yamaha R7, your black Dainese jacket hugging your curves as you leaned into the wind. The way you handled the bike, so smooth and confident, it was as if the motorcycle was an extension of you. 

“Damn, she’s hot.” Without a second thought, Satoru ended the live stream abruptly, “Gotta go, guys. Someone just stole my heart,” and pocketed his phone.

“Did you seriously just—” Suguru started, but Satoru was already mounting his S1000RR.

“Catch you later, Suguru!” he called, gunning the engine without even looking at his best friend. Soon enough, the 1000cc bike roared to life when he shifted into first gear, and he sped off in pursuit of the blue R7.

He caught sight of you at the next red light, the signal holding you in place just long enough for him to catch up. Thank God there was no sign of a biker boyfriend around when he pulled up alongside you, visor down, adrenaline still kicking him alive. He tried to get your attention by revving his S1K, and you turned your head slightly, barely acknowledging him as you pulled your visor up and revealed the prettiest eyes Gojou had ever seen. 

Satoru flipped up his visor too, then flashed his most charming grin. “Hey there,” he said, trying to keep his voice smooth and casual. Like it was a normal encounter. “You’re fast. I like that.”

You may have rolled your eyes, but he could tell you were smirking underneath the balaclava as you talked through the Cardo intercom linked to your AGV K1s. “And you’re obnoxious. I don’t like that.”

Oooh, she’s spicy. He laughed at the silly thought in his head, unbothered by your dismissal. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m just trying to get to know the girl who stole my heart in the middle of a live stream.”

“Your heart, huh?” you teased, revving her engine just slightly. “Sounds like you’re more interested in what’s under my jacket.”

“Now that’s a baseless accusation,” he retorted, leaning in slightly. “I don’t do anything on the first night, you know. I usually wait until the second, after a nice dinner. I’m a gentleman like that.”

His remark made you snort, shaking your head at his boldness. “You’re a ridiculous guy.”

“But I’m also serious,” he added, his voice sincere despite the playful glint in his eyes. “Let me take you out, just dinner. No strings, no funny business—unless you’re into that kind of thing. I don’t mind that, either.”

Your laughter sounded like a sweet melody to his ears. “You’ve got guts, mister. I’ll give you that.” Has anyone told you how hot you looked while leaning into your bike? Damn. Satoru was distracted, checking you out for a moment until you spoke again, “Fine. One dinner. But don’t think you’re getting into my pants just because you ride a fancy bike.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised, grinning from ear to ear.

The light turned green, and without another word, you revved your engine and took off with Satoru right on your tail. The chase was on, but this time, it wasn’t just about the thrill of the ride. 

For Satoru Gojou, it was about something far more exhilarating—winning the attention of the most intriguing biker girl he’d ever met. 

And perhaps, the biker boyfriend and backpack girlfriend content he’d been hoping to post on Tiktok may slightly change into a different direction than he expected. 

[dira333]

This Is Me Trying - Kageyama x Reader

there's one line missing that I'd have loved to include but I am still pretty okay with how this turned out instead.

Tagging: @alienaiver for helping, @screamin-abt-haikyuu and @lees-chaotic-brain for Haikyuu

“Where’s Kageyama?”

The rest of the team turns at Hinata’s question, but their first-year setter is nowhere to be seen. 

“Not this again,” Daichi mutters in frustration, thinking back to Hinata’s missing shoes the day before. “We’ve got twenty minutes before our next game. I want us to all go in teams. Hinata, you’re with me. I cannot have you get lost as well.”

- Meanwhile -

“How long have you been playing volleyball? Who taught you? How long have you been a setter? How do you train? Do you get along with your team members? Have you ever hit a wall?”

“Huh?” You turn to the guy creeping up behind you, a bag clutched in his hands as he stares you down. Your teammates are sending both of you curious looks and you can tell that your Captain is just a second away from interfering.

“Can I help you?” You ask, surprised when he flinches away, stuttering. 

“I- am… I am Kageyama Tobio.” He bows so abruptly and so deeply that you fear for his spine. “I saw you play yesterday.”

“Ah?” You blink. “What school are you from?”

“Karasuno.”

“Oh,” you blink again. “I saw you play as well. You’re their setter. What year are you in?”

“First. Your serve-”

“Alright, alright.” You pull him to the side by his arm and wave at your Captain before she can do something more drastic. “I have to say your drive is admirable, but you’re not the first person to ask for my secrets. Why would I tell you?”

Kageyama considers that for a second, brows furrowing. He’s really not good at making his face work for him. It might look cute though, if he relaxed a little. 

“I wanna stay on the court the longest,” he declares, face set in a scowl that could turn milk sour.”

“Again, you’re not the only one. You gotta impress me a little more, Kageyama-kun.” You snip two fingers against his temple, watch him almost short-circuit at the sensation.

To your surprise, Kageyama bows again.

“I want to spend more time playing with this team. I am not good with people. You are good with people. I need to learn more.”

“Fine,” you tell him after a second. “Gimme your phone.”

He doesn’t stop watching you as you type in your number. “If you win today as well, you can send me details about your play. Don’t forget to tell me where you’re staying. I’ll come by and we’ll talk about it, okay? Can’t promise it will help, though.”

“Kageyama!” Someone yells at that moment, and he turns to find two guys waving at him. One of them has a shaved head, the other has a bleached strand of hair sticking up like a lightning strike.

“Good luck,” you tell him, patting his shoulder. Kageyama leaves with one last look back at you.

“You’re in trouble!” Shaved head sings as he joins them. “Daichi’s mad as hell, looking for you. All because of a cute girl?”

“I didn’t- She isn’t-” He looks back as if to check, blushing bright red when he spots you still looking at him. “I wanted to know more about her technique, that’s all.”

Both guys laugh loudly. “You really are something else, Kageyama.” The guy with the Lighting Strike declares and then they’re gone.

“Why did you give him your number?” Your libero asks when you join the team again. “Aren’t you afraid he’s going to murder you for your skin?”

“No,” You laugh softly. “He reminded me of someone, that’s all.”

Karasuno wins. So do you. 

No one pays you any mind when you slip out of the hotel you’re staying in, jogging down the streets to where Kageyama’s team is staying.

“Oh,” Shaved Head spots you at the front door. “You’re the cute girl Kageyama found.”

“I am,” you grin, “I’m looking for him. Is he around?”

“Kageyama!” He hollers down the hallway. “Uh, he’s in the bathroom, I think. I’m Tanaka by the way. What team are you playing in?”

“Niiyama,” you explain and his eyes light up. “No way, you’re playing with Kanoka.”

“Exactly. You know her?”

“Yeah, we’re childhood besties. So, you won today, right?”

“Yep. Don’t know if she told you, but we’re thinking about making Kanoka Captain next year.”

“You are. Wow. Does she know alrea-” “I’m here!” Kageyama declares from the door, wet hair sticking to his flushed face. 

“Oh, you showered already?” You ask, “I thought we could do a run-”

“Right away,” Kageyama declares, already slipping into the shoes by the door.

“Forget it, hotshot,” you put a hand on his shoulders and drag him away, “not when your hair is still wet. You’re going to get a cold. It’s fine, it’s fine, we can still work without running around.”

And you do. Even though you have to pretend you don’t notice every single member of his team walking by, peeking into the little lobby, trying to catch parts of your conversation with him.

Kageyama, however, will not let himself get distracted. He’s sucking up every word you say and, as soon as you’ve figured out how he thinks, is able to discuss ideas with you at an impressive rate.

“So…” You lean back a little after almost an hour, ignoring the little red-haired guy who’s sitting at the door, listening in. “What are your plans? Do you want to become Captain in your Third Year? Make it to Nationals every Year? Play professionally after High School or go to College first?”

“I don’t have good grades,” Kageyama points out. “I just want to stay on Court for as long as possible. Play my best.”

“Hmmm,” you get up. “Tell you what. You have my number. Make it through these Nationals and go back home. Let me know how you’re feeling next school year, okay?”

“Okay.” He shakes your hand and bows deeply, staying far too long in the open doorway, looking after you as you leave.

You don’t feel you’ve done a lot for him today. You just listened, explained a few things, told him about your perspective.

But he’s acting like you’ve changed his world and you wonder if you did. And if so, in what way…

Kageyama’s sleeping on your bedroom floor.

Your mother would throw a fit if she knew, but she’s gone for the weekend and Kageyama took the three-hour train ride in stride just to spend a weekend training with you.

College Volleyball isn’t much different from High School Volleyball, except for the harsher course load. 

He’d been updating you weekly with the teams and his own progress, updates coming in more often when it turned out that the team had problems adapting to the new Captain, or rather, the lack of their old. 

“You miss Sugawara,” you point out only half an hour after he’s arrived. 

He looks surprised at first, but then easily gives in.

“I’m still not good at connecting with my teammates.”

“Have you tried the exercises that I gave you?”

He scowls and you laugh. “Come on, Kageyama, I know you’re better than that. Practice with me, then.”

Stiffly, he turns his head. “How are you doing lately?”

You laugh again, louder this time. “You’ve got to work on your expressions, but I’m doing okay, I guess. I don’t have that much time for training because of College, so I feel like I’m falling behind.”

Kageyama falls quiet and you nudge your elbow into his side.

“This is your chance to say ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Can I do something for you?’”

“Why did you go to College if it takes away time from playing Volleyball?” He asks instead and you stop, surprised by his question.

“Because I want something to fall back on if I can’t make it in Volleyball. What if I get hurt? What if I no longer want to play?”

Kageyama scowls. “Why would you want to stop playing?”

“What are you going to do when you’re too old to play professionally?” You ask back and he falls quiet. For the remainder of your run, he’s unreachable to you. Whatever he’s thinking about, he’s far, far away.

“What am I supposed to do instead?” He asks eventually, bangs hiding his eyes.

You’re stretching and he follows your movements, intent on copying you, as usual. As if you have all the answers in the world.

“Tell me about your Childhood, Tobio,” you ask instead.

That’s how you end up, him sleeping on your bedroom floor and you craving nothing more than to pick him up and hug him so tight that all the loneliness drains out of him.

You’re no stranger to grief, but it’s so different when you have to watch someone you care about in its clutches.

Karasuno doesn’t make it to the Nationals in their second year. Tobio still gets invited to this Year’s Youth Camp and you make sure to take that weekend off, taking the same train so you can sit next to him for three of his eight-hour ride, listening to him ramble on about school, Hinata, Volleyball. 

“You’re going to do great,” you tell him, wondering how it happened that you’re now feeling this way. As if he punctured your heart and crawled inside, making it his home without realizing it.

Third-Year Tobio is a heartbreaker. 

He tells you about the confessions he gets with the naivety of someone much younger. Every single time you have to force yourself to ask “And what did you answer?” only to hear that he’s declined, yet again.

You wonder what he’s thinking of you. You’re still a Star Setter, but do you have anything left to teach him? You think Sugawara did a way better job at that anyway. 

But he still makes the three-hour ride at least once every two months, sleeping on your bedroom floor when your mom is away for the weekend. 

One time you take his hand in a crowded train station and he doesn’t let go.

If only you could let yourself have this. 

But does he even think about you that way?

X

“Sugawara-senpai?” Kageyama asks, phone pressed hard against his ear. “What do you wear on a sleepover?”

He sits amidst his things, a volleyball in his lap.

“Pajamas, usually. Why do you ask?”

“Even if it’s with a girl?”

Sugawara sounds like he’s choking.

“A sleepover with a girl? Boy, you’re- wait, who are you sleeping at?”

Kageyama says your name with the familiar feeling of pride that comes with it.

He was the one who approached you and he’s the one who still gets to text and call you, visit you even. Not Hinata, who can make everyone like him, or Tsukishima, who’s somehow getting love confessions even though he’s an ass. 

“Well, it depends… on what you’ve already done together.”

“Done together?” Kageyama furrows his brows. “We’ve analyzed our games. And I get to play with her friends sometimes.”

“Kageyama.” Sugawara’s voice is serious. “I need to ask you this. Why are you sleeping over?”

“Because she lives far away and I can’t make both treks in one day.”

“I get that, but… why are you visiting her anyway? Just to get more tips?”

Kageyama halts for a second. “I… don’t know.”

“Mhm. Thought so. You know, most boys sleeping over at girls' houses have more than just Volleyball tips in mind.”

“She’s giving me tips on how to get along with my teammates as well,” He explains, but Sugawara just chuckles low in his throat.

“That’s not what I meant. I guess you know what it’s going to look like, right? That’s why you’re asking what to wear?”

Kageyama digs his knees into the floor of his room and bits down on his lip but the words still tumble out.

“I’ve never been on a sleepover before. One that’s not the whole team sleeping somewhere, I mean. I didn’t want to ask Hinata because he’s got so many friends and he might think-”

“Ah…” Sugawara interrupts him. “I get it. Don’t worry. We’ll go over this like we did with the topic of Smalltalk, okay? Basic steps first, then some finer things. Would that help?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Girl’s rooms look different than boy’s rooms, Kageyama knows.

His sister’s room is filled with pictures of celebrities, make-up, and accessories have driven out anything volleyball-related long ago.

Yachi’s room is colorful, with little designer pieces and cute stationery she likes to collect.

Yours is different altogether.

The prizes you won are proudly displayed, next to a collection of textbooks. There’s a bed and a small closet and you serve him tea on the floor of your room, giggling over the stories he tells from training.

Kageyama likes talking to you. Just like Sugawara, you never mind when his words come out more brash than they should, or when he can’t figure out how to word a question right. You’ve got kind eyes and a soft smile and you touch him more often than other people.

Telling you about his grandfather or his fear of ending up alone again - the words might not come easy, but you handle them gently, like it’s safe to let them rest with you.

You snore a little, he figures out that first night. The softest sound he wants to never forget.

Sleeping over at a friend’s house is something he wants to do again and again, talking low in the darkness, knowing that someone who cares is just a short distance away.

When he has to leave you hug him goodbye. 

For the first time, he thinks he knows why people do it, this seemingly unnecessary ritual of enveloping each other.

For the first time, he thinks about not letting go.

But his train’s going to leave without him and you wave until the train station is out of sight. Kageyama likes to think you waved a little longer. Just because.

“Are you away this weekend, Kageyama?” Has become a regular question. 

Hinata’s no longer pestering him with questions about his private training sessions on the weekend. 

He’s getting better at working with the new First Years and a new invite for the National Youth Camp has him reach for the phone to call you.

He’s more nervous than last time and he wonders if it’s about you, sitting next to him on the train, legs pressed together on the small seats. 

You smell sweet and he wonders if he could hug, just like that, just because. 

Do people do that? Just hug for no reason but to touch? He should ask Sugawara about it.

“You’re going to do great,” you say and he wants to promise that he will, just for you.

But he doesn’t, because that would sound weird, wouldn’t it? 

After all, he’s so much younger than you. 

Do you even think about him in that way? The way he thinks about you?

Your hand fits perfectly in his.

Kageyama knows the taste of your favorite dessert and always has some money saved to buy you a flower or two at the train station before he gets to your house.

Sometimes, when you sleep, you mumble his name and he can hardly make himself fall asleep because he wants to hear it all, every quiet mention, mumble or snore.

You’re real and you like him, still.

“Are you coming?” He asks when they get through the Qualifiers; when he knows he will make it to the Nationals one last time with this team.

“Of course,” you say and his heart leaps into his throat. 

Kageyama almost tells you, then and there, that he thinks this might be love.

But it doesn’t feel right, over the phone like that, so he pulls the words back before they can spill from his lips.

He will tell you, he promises to himself after they win. This time, Karasuno will be the last one standing in Tokyo.

X

“Oh, you’re here as well,” a guy with greyish hair and a beauty mark beneath his eye waves at you, “We’re sitting over here.”

“Do I know you?” You ask, taking the offered seat nonetheless. The guy pouts and his friends laugh.

“I’m Sugawara,” he explains, “Kageyama’s Senpai. These two are Daichi and Asahi, not that you’d recognize them, right?”

You laugh. “No, guilty as charged. I don’t think I remember any names from your team besides Tanaka and Kageyama.”

“Someone called my name?” Tanaka jumps down the last two steps leading to your seats, grinning. “Kiyoko, they’re already here, Babe.” He waits for his girlfriend to take a seat before leaning in. 

“You’re Kageyama’s girlfriend, right?”

“Oh, it’s not- I…” You wave your hands around awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Tanaka laughs.

“Ah, I knew it, I knew it. No way he’s got that much game. But he’s got lots of talent, don’t you think.”

“He does,” you take the offered topic, lament about their Kohai’s talents for over half an hour until the players finally arrive, warming for their first game. More of Karasuno’s former players have gathered around you, as well as a taiko drum group.

Sugawara lets out a shrill whistle using two fingers and most of the Karasuno players look up, obviously used to the signal.

You wave, hoping against hope that Tobio will be able to pick you out of the crowd.

From this distance, it’s hard to tell, but that frown could mean he’s smiling. Sugawara starts to point at you exaggeratedly and you slap his hands away but it’s too late. 

Tobio has already turned away.

He doesn’t play well at the beginning. Everyone notices.

It takes him a while to find his grove but when he does, he does.

Then it’s over and you wish to do nothing more but to run down and hug him. But it’s safer up here, you know, where your heart won’t leap out of your throat.

But then you have to leave, get up, and move, because the Niiyama Girls are playing in the other hall and you promised you’d watch their game too, knowing that it would sync up perfectly with Karasuno’s rest period.

“I’m going to be back for the next game,” you promise, “so don’t give my seat away.”

Your heart still hammers in your chest as you walk down the staircase.

If only you could keep these moments, locked up in a mason jar, take them out on bad days to relive them again.

“Are you leaving already?” Tobio’s looking up at you, sweat slick hair sticking to his temple, face flushed from exertion.

“I’m just moving to the other stadion to watch the Niiyama Girls,” you explain, pull him in for a hug when you reach him. “You were amazing.”

“Thank you,” his hot breath tickles your neck and maybe you’re imagining it, but you think you feel his heart racing through the thin jersey.

“Your start was messy though,” you reprimand him, your hand moving on its own to shuffle through his hair, putting each strand back where it belongs. “But you saved your ass. I’m going to be back for your next game, don’t worry.”

“I could come with you,” he rushes out. “It doesn’t really matter where I rest, right?”

You catch a look from Karasuno’s captain over Tobio’s shoulder. A smile dances over his freckled face and he makes a face that tells you everything you need to know.

“Fine,” you tell him, knowing that a ‘No’ would never work here, “But you should put on a jacket.”

His hand finds yours on the way to the other game, his grip warm and strong.

You don’t want to ever let go, but you still do, knowing full well how it would look like to your Kouhai’s. You’ve never had a boyfriend in the whole time you played with them. 

And even though the first years still remember Tobio showing up back then, you don’t want to give them any ideas that might come back to break your heart.

“You and Sugawara-senpai,” Tobio starts as soon as you’re sitting, “did you get along well?”

“I guess so,” your leg is pressed against his, the sensation shooting up your spine and into your brain. “He’s nice.”

“How nice?” He asks, voice so low you almost miss it.

You blink. The words are out before you’ve thought them through.

“Are you jealous, Tobio?”

“Should I be?”

You’re not sure how he means it. Teasing? Or is he unsure of this social construct, asking for an explanation?

He takes your hand, looks at it as if checking for injuries. “Would you hold my hand if Sugawara was here as well?”

Your mouth turns dry.

“Would I be allowed?” You ask. “I mean, I’m a lot older than you-”

“I like you.” He blurts it out like he blurts out most things. Two guys in front of you turn around with matching frowns. You’re sure they didn’t come here to hear your love confessions.

“We should talk about this later,” you whisper, cheeks burning. You press his hand. “I like you too, don’t worry.”

“Can’t we talk now?”

And maybe it would have been better to slip out and talk about it, but you’ve never once missed a minute of a game you wanted to see and Tobio’s hand doesn’t leave yours, his grip warm and heavy, his leg pressing into yours.

There’s much to talk about after this game ends and all the other ones today. There’s graduation and other things to consider, but you can’t help but think that it will be okay.

As long as his hand stays in yours, it will be okay.

“Where’s Kageyama?”

You turn to spot Sugawara looking through the crowd.

“Bathroom,” you explain. “I think he had a bit too much to drink.”

“Ah,” Sugawara smiles. “Haven’t had the time to properly talk to you today. How are you? How’s work doing?”

“Good and good. Our last match-”

“I know,” Sugawara smiles. “Kageyama tells me everything. He still calls every week to update me. He spent an hour boasting about that game.”

“Oh,” you blink, a little surprised and a lot flattered. “Wait, is that when he locks himself in our pantry for half an hour each Friday?”

Sugawara laughs. “He’s been asking for my advice for years and I don’t think he’s going to stop soon. I thought you knew, actually.”

“Well, I knew you taught him a lot concerning Volleyball, but this sounds like you did a lot more. Tell me the details, Sugawara-san.”

Sugawara grins cheekily, checking to see if Tobio’s still nowhere to be seen.

“When he spent the weekend at your place for the first time he asked me all kinds of questions. I’m the one who picked out the sleepwear he brought. He usually slept only in boxers or nothing at all depending on the temperature.”

You feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “I see. Thank you’s are in order.”

“Uhuh,” Sugawara winks. “Nothing to thank me for. You two deserve each other.”

“That just sounded mildly threatening,” you joke just as Tobio returns, threading his arm through yours.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your weekly talks with Sugawara-san,” you lean into him. “And the fact that you only wear sleepwear because of him.”

Tobio blushes a soft red. “You said you liked my Volleyball Pajamas.”

“I do. They are adorable.”

Tip me?

[lazywriters-blog]

Aventurine with an innocent darling who's very vulnerable to his schemes and doesn't understand his motives for gifting her a ring, necklaces, expensive perfumes, and dresses that match his preference, finds it hard to believe that he's doing all this for her without a reason.

Doesn't say anything whenever he puts his hand around her waist and drags her along with him anywhere and everywhere he goes, when he leans close she doesn't move back, in a way Aventurine would find her daring and bold, which he would like. A lot.

Seeing as she never declines or rejects him, his advances, his gifts, his messages, their intimacy, and his touch, he considers her his best friend.

Which in time would soften his heart, they would play games that were to her liking (because he would always have her lose to his bets and wagers) but if you look at it from a stranger's point of view, she's playing a dangerous game and she's falling right into his trap, wearing his gifts, following him around, it wouldn't end well.

So of course, someone would eventually warn her and tell her to stay as far away as possible from the IPC executive, which to Aventurine's dismay, works. She's playing distance with him and doesn't laugh or smile as much as she would have before everything she was told messed up her mind, runs home after he keeps insisting that she stay the night and they could have a sleepover, however, they keep drifting apart every time he gets too overbearing.

Everything she does hurts his feelings and drags him further down.

Losing someone who didn't have ulterior motives, who didn't want him to be their friend for his money, influence, his looks, his luck, makes him all the more clingy and desperate.

He wants her back, so the first thing he does is make sure everyone keeps their mouths shut and never thinks about influencing his best friend. Which works, at least for a while.

He's attached to her, he can't consider losing her after everything they've been through, so even if she doesn't realize it, the damage has been done, and she can never look at Aventurine the same. Surely, he will learn about it soon enough.

He could try manipulating her, but what's the use? They've lost their genuine friendship, and it drives him crazy, makes him bitter, and makes him want to do things to whoever dragged his darling away.

He might resort to desperate measures.

So now, he's doing everything he used to do but ten times worse, giving her endless rows of gifts, and spending an unimaginable amount of money on her in hopes they can rekindle their friendship.

But something is still holding her back.

"You should stay the night," he said in his usual light tone, taking a glance to gauge her response. She smiled nervously, and he knew she would decline.

"No, I gotta get home but next time surely," promising him her next time had gotten old, even though she had only stated it twice. He looked away for a moment, trying his best not to squeeze her shoulder.

"You know, you've promised me that twice already and it still hasn't come true."

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just... I don't want to bother you." she looked down.

"I wonder if it is because of those people. You can easily be manipulated, I've already told you that so many times, so why can't you try to form your own opinion?" he didn't say it in a belittling manner, nor was his tone heavy in malice but anyone could tell something was wrong.

Aventurine has never been passive-aggressive, at least not with her.

"That's... Kinda mean." she tried to pull his arm, trying to shrug off his touch but that didn't stop nor discourage him because he just laughed and pulled her back to him.

"I was just kidding! Surely you would have known that by now sweetheart." he also never called her 'sweetheart'.

She looked at him, his wide grin and beautiful eyes peering down at her had always consoled her but now it was telling her to run away.

But with how tight he was holding onto her, she feared it would be impossible to get away now.

[coco-loco-nut]

Mama

pairing: Pierre x reader

summary: Pierre and his annoyed, heavily pregnant, wife

TW: references to spicy activities, pregnancy, cussing, use of French learned via Duolingo and high-school French class from like 4 years ago

————————

“I regret ever letting your French ass charm me,” you scowl at your husband who picked you up at the train station in London. He had been away for a week, and initially you did miss your husband, but the pregnancy began to really wear on you this week.

“I missed your too, mamour,” Pierre kisses you, taking your bags and placing them in his rental car.

“I should’ve stayed home,” you grumble as he helps you into the car. You missed your French home, the villa was sunny and it wasn’t England, but you promised your sweet husband you would come to Silverstone. He came straight from

Pierre knows you are hurting, the third trimester taking a toll on you, so he doesn’t take any of your words to heart, instead he intends on showing you how much he loves you.

“I wish I were home too,” Pierre squeezes your hand gently once he is in the car. He has been hoping and praying that the baby comes during the summer break, just so he can spend time with you. You hadn’t been to a race since Imola and Monaco and you were able to hide the pregnancy pretty easily with flowy dresses. Despite being pregnant with twins, you didn’t balloon up until right after.

“What would Mrs. Glasly and the Baby Gasly’s like to do first, get to the hotel or get some food?” Pierre asks and you think about it for a second.

“Mmm food. Chicken nuggets and fries, preferably,” you give Pierre puppy dog eyes despite telling him you hated him moments ago.

“There is a McDonald’s in the next town over from Silverstone. I won’t tell if you don’t,” Pierre says, you swear in that moment that you fall in love with him all over again.

“I would never,” you gasp before yawning a little. At this point, you could take a nap anywhere, despite being extremely uncomfortable with the babies dropping. Some luck happened and your thirty-sixth week of pregnancy falls at the very start of summer break.

“Take a nap, chérie, we have about an hour and a half,” Pierre tells you as he pulls out of the parking lot, turning the music on softly. You don’t need to be told twice as you doze off. You don’t even wake up to Pierre ordering a ridiculous amount of food at McDonald’s, you only wake up when he gently shakes your shoulder.

“Mon ange, tu dois te lève,” Pierre says gently, coaxing you awake.

“Mm, mon bonhuer, feed me and take me to bed,” you say sleepily, a sly smile on your face.

“The things you do to me,” Pierre groans, getting out of the car. You carry the food into the hotel from the garage so his trainer can’t yell at him.

“Y/n! How are you doing?” Charles comes up beside you. He knew about the pregnancy, despite Pierre and you keeping it under wraps, only because the both of you attended dinner at the Leclerc’s house during the Monaco GP. It's only natural, you were Pierre's childhood best friend. Charles was Pierre's childhood best friend, you tolerated the both of them.

“How do you think,” you glare at the Monégasque.

“Maman asked me to give you this, and I added a little something too,” Charles says, handing Pierre a bag and kissing your cheek.

“Thank you, Charlot,” Pierre waves to his friend, guiding you to the hotel room.

“Pierre, this is so good,” you practically moan as you eat the nuggets.

“You gotta stop talking like that, you’re driving me nuts,” he groans. You grin, biting into a fry.

“Or what?” your tease, his eyes darken. As soon as you both finish your dinner, he is kissing you.

“Pierre!” you groan, he helps you stand up, moving towards the bed.

"Do you want to do this?" Pierre looks at you with concern.

"Pierre, I am not a glass doll, I am pregnant and horny and I miss your cuddles, and I haven't seen you in weeks. I think you know what I want," you look Pierre in the eyes who is quick to help you into a safe, yet comfortable position. It is safe to say that the two of you missed each other very, very much.

You woke up in the morning, a rare occurrence of sleeping through the night, to your husband's arm wrapped around you, holding you close to him.

"Pierre," you nudge him. He hums, only half awake. "If you don't let me go, I may puke on this bed," you whisper to him. Pierre quickly wakes up and helps you to the bathroom. He had to get up soon anyway for the race.

"You ok?" Pierre continues rubbing your back after you've puked.

"I look like shit, feel like shit, and you watched me puke, I think the answer is no," you groan, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Why don't we shower, then I'll order some breakfast while I get ready?" Pierre offers, helping you undress and get into the shower. Like the gentleman he is, he helps you clean where you can't reach anymore, and in return, you scrub the shampoo into his hair.

The two of you eat quickly and get ready for the day. You both get in a chauffeured car and head to the circuit, you left a little later than usual due to eating breakfast in the hotel instead of in the paddock. Cameras capture the two of you walking in, more like you waddling as Pierre walks with an arm around you. He heads into a strategy meeting while you rest on the couch in his room.

"Apparently social media is blowing up over pictures of us walking in. They may love pregnant you more than I do, and that is nearly impossible," Pierre tells you when he gets back, the F2 race playing quietly in the background.

"I'm glad someone is enjoying it, because I want them out," you groan as they kick you simultaneously. Pierre helps you stand up and wraps his arms around you, hands under your bump. You relax into his chest, letting him take some of the pressure off of your body for a little bit. His touch always seems to calm the babies down.

"I know, just another month, then we will have our precious babies. You are doing incredibly, you will be the best mom," he praises you causing you to blush.

"They will have the coolest daddy," you hum, enjoying the temporary relief.

"Pierre, you gotta do your warm-ups," his trainer knocks on the doorframe. "Y/n, I can help you with some stretches that may provide some relief and better mobility," the trainer offers as Pierre slowly lowers your stomach, trying to ease the weight back. You follow Pierre and his trainer to the weight room. The trainer mainly focuses on helping you, claiming Pierre knew what he was doing, only stepping away when a spotter was required. Apparently, his wife was recently pregnant so he did a lot of research to help her.

"Congratulations, Y/n, you and Pierre will make great parents," despite neither of you particularly caring for Esteban, you thanked him anyway and wished him a good race. Pierre took you on some light strolls across the paddock, frequently being stopped by drivers, before the race where you sat in the garage and watched with his team. Pierre got in the points and you both celebrated by going home to France and sleeping.

By the time summer break rolled around, the nursery was filled with gifts from drivers and teams. Charles was begging the both of you to either name one of your babies after him or name him godfather. He was pleased to learn he was going to be named godfather regardless. A few days into break, your babies decided it was time to meet the world.

"Pierre, car, now," you look at your husband from the passenger seat.

"Charles! I am panicking! Yes, I am getting in the car. Fine you, can talk to y/n while I drive," Pierre says, frazzled, as he drives away from your home, the back seat filled with what you might need, two car seats already installed.

"Hello Charles," you say into the phone, quite amused despite the contractions becoming more frequent.

"Hi y/n, are you ready to meet the two rascals who have been torturing you for months? You will get to be a mom to three babies, god knows Pierre needs his mom right now," Charles laughs, helping to distract you as Pierre flies down roads.

"Mhmm, I'm excited to know the genders if anything. Are you still coming out later this week?" You ask him, the conversation oddly calm.

"I'm getting my plane ready now, I have to be there to meet my godchildren," Charles informs you and you feel another contraction coming on.

"Great, I'll be sure to hold them in for you. I gotta go, see you soon," you laugh through the pain, quickly hanging up. Pierre cut off an impossible amount of time, granted you didn't live too far from the hospital. Pierre is more stressed than you are, it's cute.

After 6 hours of labor, you and Pierre have greeted the most beautiful babies, at least in your eyes. The love of your life has now expanded to include the little bundles.

"Congratulations," Charles says, the first to arrive since you and Pierre didn't live too close to your families.

"Meet your godchildren, Anthoine Romeo and Genevieve Charlie," you smile tiredly at Pierre, who helped you through your labor, even as you screamed some very nasty things at him.

"They are perfect," Charles looks at you, a little teary as he holds Genevieve, "thank you," he says softly.

"We named them after the two people who have always stood beside us," you say, Pierre fascinated by his son. You really were the luckiest woman alive.

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely!!! As I mentioned earlier, I apologize again do sending so many asks, I'm sick and stuck at home rn, so my brain has been working on overtime, so if I have an idea and think u might like it, I am sending them lol.

I wanted to know if u could write spencer x bau!reader, where reader is a technical analyst with Penelope for the team. But the last case was a pretty big one and she ended up sacrificing her sleep and needs to Penelope and everyone else could rest? So now that the case is over shes beng kinda stubborn and doesn't really wanna adress it, nor rest till she finishes the few remaining things?

Like always, you don't gotta write anything I request!!! I hope you've had a good week so far and get plenty of rest lol <333

Sincerely, :]

Hi sweetheart! No worries, send as many as you like! I'm just answering them at my own pace :)

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 876 words

“Hello my favorite genius.” Penelope snags Spencer by his sleeve just as he’s about to step into the elevator, using his momentum to swing him around and start him back the other direction. “I need you to get your ladylove out of my office—” she winces. “Our office. Sorry. Old habits, they do die hard.” 

“She’s still here?” Spencer asks, having learned long ago how to bulldoze through the fluff of conversations with Garcia. “I thought she’d be home already.” 

“Oh, no,” she says gravely, voice dropping to a whisper as they near the tech room. “I don’t think she’s been there in days. You cannot say anything, but she’s starting to smell.” 

Spencer prepares himself for the worst as the door opens, but all he finds is you, cute if a little bedraggled, hunched over your keyboard. 

“Hi,” he says tentatively when your glassed-over eyes don’t leave the screen. Your face is awash in blue light, blank but for the determined pinch of your mouth as you work. “Ready to go home?” 

“You can’t kick me out,” you say. Spencer blinks in surprise and a bit of hurt at your blunt tone before he realizes you aren’t speaking to him. “You can’t make him kick me out, either. I just have a few things left to do.”

“Very admirable work ethic,” Penelope shoots back, her own voice chipper with a steel edge, “but you’ve done plenty. We can finish this tomorrow.” 

You don’t stop typing even for a second. “Go home, Pen.” 

She gives Spencer an emphatic, helpless look behind your back, and he nods, signaling for her to go. She backs out of the room with her hands held up in front of her like she’ll need to ward you off, grabbing her bag and shutting the door behind her. 

“Hey.” Freed from the last constraints of professionalism, Spencer slips into his most honeyed tone. “Let’s get out of here, sweetheart. I’ve got a bed and a fridge full of almost-bad takeout waiting for us at home.” 

“Just a couple of things left to do,” you mutter, but your tone is considerably less hard than it had been with Penelope. 

“There will always be things left to do.” He walks up behind your chair, setting his hands on your shoulders and his chin on your head. You smell a bit stale, a sure tell you’ve been too long in this room, but nothing so bad as Penelope had warned him about. Just day-old you. “I may not know the full scope of things, but I know you’ve been working really hard on this case. You deserve some rest. You need some rest,” he amends. “Let me drive you home.” 

Something like longing flickers across your expression, but then it hardens back into resolve. “Thanks, Spence, but I can drive myself once I’m done.” 

Spencer decides to switch tactics. Oftentimes, the best way to get you to accept help is to let you think you’re actually helping someone else. He straightens and takes a couple of quick steps back from your desk with your chair in hand, rolling you with him.

“Hey!” you reach for your keyboard, but Spencer’s already swiveling your seat, turning you to face him. 

He sets his hands on the armrests. “Sweetheart, I just got off a four hour flight after a three day case. I’d really like to go home, but I’m not leaving here without you.” The divot between your eyebrows takes on a new character, frustration softening into sympathy. “And you haven’t even let me say a real hello.” 

A spark of happiness lights your eyes a second before they fall closed, face tipping up in eager anticipation as Spencer dips down to kiss you. It’s soft and lingering, and you rub your lips together self-consciously after it’s over, realizing how chapped they are. Spencer wonders when the last time you drank water was. 

“Sorry,” you say softly. “I didn’t mean to hold you up.” 

“You’re not,” he reassures you quickly, wanting you pliant but not guilty. “I mean, I don’t mind. Of course I don’t mind waiting for you. But are you ready to go now?” 

You cast a hesitant, skeptical look back at your computer, but Spencer smooths his thumb over the inside of your wrist, and you relent. “Yeah, okay. I just have to come back early tomorrow to finish up.” 

Spencer hums noncommittally. He was already planning on disabling your alarms after you’re asleep tonight. You need rest more than the higher-ups need your reports. You stand, grabbing your bag from under your desk and letting him shepherd you towards the door. 

“Do you think we could order some new takeout?” you ask him. 

“Good idea,” he agrees, somewhat relieved. “The stuff in the fridge has chicken in it, I don’t trust that.” 

Your laugh is somewhat lighter than usual, exhaustion setting in now that you’re out of your cave, but Spencer relishes the sound regardless. “Yeah, me neither. Pizza?” 

“Pizza,” he confirms. 

You make it all the way downstairs before your eyes flare and you spin around. “Shit, I think I left the light—”

“Nope.” Spencer takes you by the shoulders, steering you towards his car. “Someone else will take care of it.”

[rafeandonlyrafe]

out for a run

words: 900

warnings: established relationship, catcalling, physical violence!!!, description of blood, reader kinda crazy as well as rafe lolz

“you ready?” you ask rafe as you finish tying your tennis shoes before making sure your watch is strapped tight to your wrist.

“yup.” rafe says, still leaned up against a wall, not so subtly checking you out as his eyes look up and down your body, dressed in tight fitting leggings and a sports bra.

“earth to rafe.” you wave your hand past his face as you head towards the door, taking a final sip of water before you start your run.

“yeah, yeah.” rafe jogs to catch up to you, again admiring your body, this time from the back.

you go through a quick stretching routine once outside, warming up your muscles. you walk to the end of the driveway, occasionally swinging your knee back to kick your butt and warm up your thighs. 

rafe is right by your side as you start to run, keeping pace with you, even though he could probably go faster. rafe insists it's the perfect pace for him, but you know it's just because he wants to stay by your side.

you fall into a comfortable silence. you used to like listening to music during runs, but you've come to enjoy just the sounds of the outer banks, whether it be the distant waves or dogs barking, even the cars driving past provide you a bit of interest as your feet pound against the pavement.

a car horn suddenly beeps out, causing you to look over, making sure it's not directed at you.

you twist your face in disgust when you see a guy smirking at you out the window. he even has the audacity to roll down his window and shout. “nice tits!”

rafe doesn't hesitate, turning up his pace as he sprints onto the road after the truck, but it tears away, blowing through a stop sign.

“it's okay rafe.” you reach your hands to his shoulders, legs burning slightly from the sudden stop as he rejoins you on the sidewalk. “he's just some asshole, okay?”

“im gonna find out who he is and fucking kill him.” rafe grunts out, eyes staring into the distance like his glare can cause the man pain.

“alright, you gotta run your anger out.” you shove slightly on rafes shoulders. “go faster, it's okay. just circle back to meet me.”

rafe looks at you, then back in the direction of the truck, wondering how far it's gone. hopefully it's parked somewhere close and rafe can confront the asshole.

“call me if anything happens.” rafe says, planning to just run up and look down the streets of a couple blocks before rushing back to you.

“of course.” you give him another gentle shove, and rafe takes off.

you give your legs a little stretch, shins hurting slightly before starting to jog again, heading the direction rafe went. you always switch up your route, but it doesn't matter because you're always together. you figure the best thing to do is just stay going straight.

you get back into your groove quickly, listening to the birds chirping, the wind rustling through the trees, only for it to be interrupted by a quiet thud of skin hitting skin.

you look down the side street, eyes widening when you see the same truck as earlier, the driver now splayed out on the grass, rafe standing over him. 

you turn quickly in his direction, pushing your legs as hard as they can go as rafe kneels down over the guy, fisting one hand in his shirt and pulling his other arm back to punch him again.

“okay, rafe.” you grab his elbow when he raises it up to swing again. “i think he's learned his lesson.” the guys face has turned black and blue, blood dripping from his nose onto the green grass.

rafe stands, turning to place his hands on your shoulders, blocking your view of the creep with his wide chest. “come on baby, you don’t gotta see this.”

rafe turns to spit at him before leading you back in the direction you came when the guy has the gall to speak again. 

“your ass is as nice as your tits.” the words are slurred, rafe clearly did a number on him.

rafe turns, clearly he hasn't beat him well enough if he can't shut up even when he's lying on the ground bleeding, when you stop him with a hand on the bicep.

“i got this.” you say, turning towards the man, looking down at him with disgust, sorry you have to dirty your favorite pair of running shoes with his filth as you swing your leg forward, connecting your toe with his side.

he lets out a loud groan, twisting to cover his side, but it just gives you a better angle as you muster everything you learned from playing soccer in elementary school and kick again, directly in his stomach.

“you need to learn how to treat women with respect.” you spit onto his face as well, landing on the opposite cheek that rafes had.

“you're lucky i don't let my boyfriend at you again.” the guy is sobbing into the ground now, but you're not satisfied, giving him a kick right in his crotch to finish off your point.

“come on, rafe.” you begin to walk away as he looks at you with wide eyes.

“baby-” rafe hurries after you as you start to jog, turning back down the street like nothing happened.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewsephrry

[kaytheday]

Things that were a Culture Shock for Dallas Winston from New York to Tulsa

Being able to see the stars for the first time. He is so surprised about how full the sky is, not that he would ever tell anybody that.

No public transportation (there is no way baby Dally ever learned how to drive and no way that he has a drivers lisence now) Buck probably taught him to drive.

He probably misses the subway and hates the bus system that Tulsa operates under (which is why he’s stealing Bucks car all the time).

Lowkey the rats. He is probably overestimating quite how much vermin there is.

The first time Darry caught him stuffing a towel in the sink drain at like 10:00 pm before they go to a drag race he was very confused.

"Why are you doing that Dal?"

"I’m planning on sleeping here tonight and if you don't keep these things plugged up when you go to bed you're gonna have a full rat invasion on your hands. They can get through pipes smaller than these you know Darrel.”

"Ratvasion up in here!"

"Shut up Two-Bit!"

Streets with nobody on them and less crowded spaces in general. Dallas is constantly asking where all the people are. Everyone else just keeps telling him that this is a normal amount of people?

Another thing that I think about is how Dallas was probably on high alert right after he moved. He was constantly used to the noise and the fighting and he was pretty paranoid about people following him and things like that because of the crime he was involved with in the city.

He was jumpy and always ready for a fight. He also thought that most of the neighborhoods in Tulsa were run by gangs. They are not (if anything they are loosely run)

The prices of things? In New York things are just more expensive. This is why he is always treating Johnny and Ponyboy because he sees that paying for three people in Tulsa is as much as paying for himself in New York.

Also the first time he got paid for barrel racing by Buck he thought he was getting gypped because it didn't seem like a lot compared to what he was getting in New York. He literally almost punched Buck's teeth out on the spot.

The accent. He would always get annoyed with how slow people talked.

"Come on! Spit it out and get to the point! I don't got all day!" He's done this on many occasions to store cashiers, people at the bar, and so many others. He gets so sick of waiting for them to say their bit.

Also the southern manners piss him off as well. He hates responding to ‘how are you?’ Or the stupid ‘have a nice day’. He’s complained more than once on the unnecessary small talk and manners.

This could also be why he comes off as rude and cold to Ponyboy especially and many others. He is blunt and says what’s on his mind and he hates small talk and unnecessary interactions. (as most New Yorkers do!) He will almost always cut an interaction short doing anything he can to get out of it. This is often what differentiates him from other southern hoods.

New Yorkers talk fast and they use a lot of complicated slang that the rest of the United States doesn't use. A lot of people get confused when he's talking to them and we know how Dallas is easily frustrated.

"I've been schleppin' your stuff around all day Buck, it's brick out 'ere and I come home to this Schlock? I gotta go lie down!" (love you and your New Yorker accent Dallas 🥰)

Let me know if you guys have any more. I love this concept.

This is inspired by some tags left on a post by @damthosefandoms

[apas-95]

I’m an anarchocommunist that thinks a lot of other anarchists are stupid. For example, I don’t think that most people will just make insulin or do garbage collection/processing out of the kindness of their heart, and I also don’t think if it was genuinely done out of the kindness of their hearts that it’d work great. My idea is that for the “getting people to do the shitty jobs” question, the people that do those jobs should be compensated better in some way. Maybe a larger/nicer house, I’m not sure on the details. But other anarchists will say “all labor is equal”, and while I’d like to agree in the “work is hard” sense, I think things for the obvious common good, like teacher or garbage man or doctor deserve some sort of reward over other jobs. And for the efficiency of the labor, I think *specifically for labor* there needs to be some sort of organization, and we can use what’s worked before. We don’t need to have bathtub insulin if there’s a factory right there, and if there’s no connection from the insulin factory to doctors/pharmacists and truck drivers then it won’t work either. Really, my main problem with Marxism/Leninism or Stalinism or Maoism or any combination of those is that there are specific people with far too much power over others. I’m ok with light power in the way of “man you gotta drive the firetruck to the burning building even though you hate the dude that lives there”, but I’m not ok with the idea of a supreme leader or representatives in a political sense due to as I’ve amounts of power obviously corrupting people.

Really I’m sending this to you to get your criticism of my ideas- I think you’re pretty smart, and even if I disagree with you on some issues, I think I agree with you on others. I also want to say that not all anarchists are… like that.

So, years ago, before I started reading any Marxist theory, this is about where I was at politically. If you think about any of the practicalities, you come up to points where, very clearly, the maxim of 'no authority at all' conflicts with being able to do anything. If you're seriously considering how society could be better organised, if this is something you actually intend on bringing about, then you make some amount of concession to reality - as you did with the firetruck example!

Now, myself, I went on like this for a good while, coming up with methods of truly democratic organisation that wouldn't be susceptible to the types of totalitarianism I'd heard about, ending up very similar to your position. I was interested, however, in how these 'failed experiments' that I'd learned devolved into bureaucracy started out, and I started reading up on the history, and realised, with some discontent, that what I'd developed, once I'd made all the concessions for reality that would be necessary if this system were to be the actual one real human beings lives depended on, was essentially identical to the Soviet system.

From there, I read up on Marxist theory, still basically wary that this had all, at some point, been taken over by an evil dictator, but able to see that the earliest stages, at least, had been exactly what I was imagining, but put into practice. Reading the theory, reading how their experience experimenting with different forms of organisation, and the failures of some types, had led them to discover what did and didn't work, and adjust accordingly, made me suddenly appreciate why certain things were done certain ways. The harsh experiences of civil war had revealed certain dynamics and mechanics in the way society and production worked, which translates into political theories that bore out results I wouldn't have expected (and neither had the communists who had discovered them through practice!).

Eventually, with some chagrin and a significant deal of excitement, I realised that much of what I'd passively absorbed about socialism, many of the common-sense maxims that I'd been taught by capitalist society about the nature of power and so on, were very much artifacts of a decades-long war against these communists and the system they'd built, carried out by exactly the corporations and empires I had thought myself opposed to.

I won't critique any individual point of yours, but I will enjoin you to try out some Marxist theory - Dialectical and Historical Materialism, or Socialism, Utopian and Scientific, or Principles of Communism, or even the Communist Manifesto, and to read between the lines of whatever capitalist source you read on socialism, to notice every [citation needed] and wonder what actually happened such that someone felt the need to make something up.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 12

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You open the cupboard and rummage through the contents. Rice crackers, no. Protein powder, please. You scoff and find what looks to be chocolate but as you rip the wrapper open and bite into it, the bitterness nearly gags you. You rush to the sink and spit it out. 

“Glad to see you making yourself at home,” Steve muses from the doorway. 

You look to him and fold the wrapper back around the bar. You scowl and go to put it back. You shake your head. 

“I’m starving,” you say. “So hungry it hurts.” 

You rub your stomach as a wave of dizziness bobbles your head. Between waves of nausea and fatigue, the ravenous need consumes you. You search around, forgetting him for the pang in your stomach. You pull open the fridge and pull out the yogurt. You peel the lid off and grab the sugar dish and pour it into the container. 

“Woah, woah, that’s not good for the baby,” Steve rushes forward. 

“Don’t,” you warn as you slide open drawers in search of a spoon, “do you have pickles?” 

“Pickles? With yogurt?” 

“I’m fucking hungry!” You growl, a surge of rage searing through your veins as you grab a spoon. “If I have to be here, let me eat, at least.” 

“I don’t mind you eating, but you gotta be careful--” 

“Pickles,” you remind him. 

“Don’t got any, sorry. But I can go grab some, I guess. If you make a list--” 

He gets closer and you recoil. You wave your hand at him and plug your nose, “don’t come any closer.” 

“Excuse me?” He grimaces. 

“Your cologne or something. It’s setting me--” 

You spin and hold the spoon behind you as you puke into the sink. Your body lurches with each violent wretch. The bile does little to deter your appetite. You simply rinse out your mouth and the sink and go back to the hunt for satiation. 

“They said the symptoms will probably be worse than usual,” he leans on the counter and watches you. “Nausea, hunger, hormones...” 

“Goddamn? Ice cream? Do you have ice cream?” You snarl down at the freezer drawer. 

“I’m not much of a sweets guy.” 

“No pickles, no ice cream. Baking chocolate and sour yogurt.” You rant. 

“I told you, I’ll go get you some stuff-” 

“Then go.” You snap. 

“Hey, watch it.” 

“Or what?” You face him defiantly. “I’m carrying your baby, Steve Rogers, so you can’t do shit.” 

“I can do whatever needs to be done. You might require bedrest.” 

“Bedrest? I’m fine.” You insist and turn your back to him. 

“You’re tearing apart my kitchen and slathering like a dog,” he reproaches. 

“Slathering like a dog? Tell me again about how in love you are.” You snip, “Jeez.” 

“I didn’t mean—honey, sweetheart, I’m just trying to help you settle. We both gotta learn to live with each other. We only got seven months or so to do so.” He crosses his arms as you pull out the loaf of bread and load the toaster. 

“Hmm, you know what will help me settle in? Peanut butter and jelly. Oh and cream cheese. Mmph, yes,” you march around the kitchen and grab the butter. “Also, oreos--bagels!” 

“Okay, I’ll head out,” he sniffs and shifts flat on his feet. 

“Great,” you go back to the toaster as the scent of the browning bread drives you wild. 

He approaches you from behind and you do your best to ignore him. You bounce on your heels impatiently and tap your fingers. You stiffen as he rests his hands on your hips. You have nowhere to go. 

“A kiss before I go?” He asks. 

You hold back a heave, “I just puked.” 

“I don’t care,” he squeezes, “please. It’s been a while since that night. I’m a bit... neglected.” 

You lock your jaw and stare at the tiled wall. You force the tension out and steel yourself. You turn to him and your insides coil uncomfortably. 

“Fine,” you croak. 

He leans in and presses his lips to yours. You hold back an eruption of disgust. Objectively, he’s handsome. He is the great golden Captain America but you’ve seen the real him. You’ve seen his callousness, his cruelty. You have witnessed his delusion. You wonder if the serum did that too. 

The toast pops and you tear away just as his tongue pokes out. You grab the butter knife and take the lid off the container. You slide out a hot slice and spread the dairy across it. He sighs and looms close. 

“Anything else I can get?” He asks. 

“Just food. Lots of food,” you say as you shove a piece of toast in your mouth. “Mmm, ohmagrddddd.” 

“Alright, I’ll be back. Call me if you need anything.” 

“Sure,” you munch loudly.

Maybe that will keep him away. If you can make yourself as gross as possible, you won’t have to worry about him begging for kisses and touches. Right now, you don’t want anyone near you. 

[pedgito]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐘 — two: first to lose | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

chapter summary | Left to your own devices in the cabin with Joel, you lean toward other means of entertainment and a game over food leads to more than you're expecting.

author's note | beta'd by my lovely jo (@jolapeno) who i originally undertook this idea with. it has been really hard to focus lately, but i am itching to work away at my wips and this one has been sitting around for a while unedited. we're in a rut right now, but powering through.

chapter warnings | 18+, early outbreak, age gap (early 20s, mid 30s), morally grey!joel with trust issues, tommy is buffer, sex games, fingering, oral (m receiving), mentions of hunting and animals, joel is only softer when he's exhausted, they're both sore losers jsyk (more to come on that)

word count —4.2k

SERIES MASTERLIST, PLAYLIST, AO3

“There’s more out there,” Tommy says over your canned dinner, huddled around the fire in the living room as Joel stuffed his mouth full of beans, his conscious distance from you not going unnoticed. You were less layered, more comfortable, stripped down to your jeans and a tank top, your socks stuffed into the boots placed beside the couch, “I think another trip tonight and we’ll be good for at least a month, it’ll give us time to plan.”

“For?” You question, taking the last bite from your bowl before shoving it aside.

“Gotta find a QZ,” Tommy offers in response, “can’t survive like this forever.”

Joel seems less than hopeful, his eyes flickering away from the conversation and toward the fire. And Tommy, oblivious to the events that had transpired in his absence, doesn't address his brother’s pessimism. He’s learned to work around it, listen to his older brother when he sounded reasonable, and remain amicable around the rest of it.

He knew Joel’s tendencies, but found ignoring them was easier than bringing up the issue.

“Can I tag along this time?” You ask curiously, those pleading eyes falling on Tommy.

He chuckles, his spoon clanging against the ceramic as he shakes his head, halfheartedly as he speaks around the food he was chewing in his mouth, “I can handle it, kid. Besides, someone’s gotta keep an eye on Joel.”

You tense at the mention of his name, forcing a soft smile. Tommy doesn’t suspect a thing, wouldn’t even have the inclination, but the look of disdain Joel offers to you both stings.

“It’s a long drive, probably a couple days,” Tommy nods his chin up toward his brother and kicks at his foot, the boot scuffing against the wood, “you can teach her how to hunt while I’m gone.”

Joel doesn’t respond immediately and Tommy presses, leaning slightly to obscure his brother’s glare at the wall across from him, eventually Joel nods but it was entirely unconvincing and Tommy shakes his head in amusement, disapproval crossing his face as he chews at his bottom lip.

“Don’t hurt each other while I’m gone,” Tommy jokes, “alright?”

You smile half-heartedly and spin your knife on the barely standing end table to your left, “I can behave—right, Joel?”

Joel grunts, barely an acknowledgement at your expense as he walks between you two and lands on the couch, kicking off his boots over the edge and allowing himself to get comfortable, forearm slung over his eyes as he shimmied his shoulders down until he was comfortable.

“We’ll be fine.” You tell Tommy softly and he nods, looking at his brother with a brief frustration.

He could take you with him, he knows that. But, he’s almost fearful that Joel would run off in the middle of the night, that Tommy would never see his brother again. Losing Sarah had taken a toll on both of them and while Joel tried his damndest not to show the effects, Tommy feels them lingering. You were the most rational out of all of them, despite your inexperience and hesitancy to fight for yourself, your emotions were in check. For the most part.

You could be the perfect little watchdog Tommy needed.

But, in the back of your mind, you knew Joel was in command. It had been that way from the beginning; the dutiful little brother, the helpless young girl who had nowhere to go. It just worked.

Tommy departs with a nod, chuckling quietly at the already snoring Joel on the couch to your left. And you sigh with your own creeping feeling of exhaustion taking over, falling back against the balled up coat on the floor and finding yourself drifting to sleep eventually too. 

–

You wake up in a different spot, feeling the rigid but somehow softer fabric of the couch under your body as you roll over, peeking your eyes open to the blinding light. You groan quietly, stretching out tense limbs as you spot Joel. He’s leaned back in a chair, feet propped up in another as he flicks away at a solid chunk of wood, knife gripped in his hand.

“That’s mine,” You grumble weakly, spotting the weapon in his hand. His eyes flick up briefly, a chuff of acknowledgment from his nose has you squinting in his direction, “—you didn’t ask.”

Joel squints in response, flipping the knife in his hand until the handle is facing out, offering up the knife to you. You rise slowly, feeling slightly wobbly on your feet as you approach him. He brings the knife back toward his chest as you reach for it, “I think you’re forgetting, it was mine.”

You snatch it against his weak grip, too irritated from the lack of decent and comfortable sleep to argue, tossing it away on the couch as you round the dining table, peering through the slip of curtains covering the window, spotting the pile of burnt and charred bodies outside the window.

“Why did you move me?” You ask idly, dragging your fingers down the silk curtain, watching a few drops of rain hit the window before the trickle becomes stronger, followed by a low clash of thunder.

Joel stares at the chunk of wood in his grasp, fiddling with it until he slides it on the table, speaking to you nonchalantly as he stands, “You looked uncomfortable,” Within a few second he’s at your side, looking out the window at the incoming rain storm, “besides—you kept tossing and turning, once you were on the couch it stopped.”

“Oh, so I was disturbing your sleep,” You snark at him, turning your head to look at him. He mimics the movement and chuckles lazily, nodding in agreement, “add it to the list, I guess.”

“Of?”

He’s feigning cluelessness, watching the rain take on a stronger current as it pounded against the roof and you speak absently, “So, hunting is out of the question?

Joel’s arm rises to rest against the wall beside the window, hand tucked at his hip, “No. There’s still plenty to hunt ‘round here, if you have enough patience.”

“Well, I’m hungry.”

“Well, that’s an issue, ain’t it?”

For you, yes. For him, no.

He knows you don’t have the first clue what to equip yourself with, what animals to look for and your head turns, peering up at him curiously with the beginnings of a too sweet smile gracing your features.

“Not happenin’, don’t even ask.” Joel tells you, your smile immediately falling as you step away.

Whatever intensity had lingered the night before—the adrenaline from the attack, was gone.

Joel looks exhausted, conveys it in the slow and tired blinks he aims your way. He’d given up sleep to allow you to get rest, sacrificing his own without outwardly admitting it.

He’s only now starting to regret it as his head pounds, attempting to work through his exhaustion but feeling it catch up on him in waves, “We’ve got a can or two left to pick at, try that.”

Your face contorts in subtle disgust, “We need meat. Beans and peaches can only get us so far.” Joel doesn’t hear your complaints though, departing for the couch with a hand rubbing at the back of his neck, tense and knotted up muscles causing a deep ache in his back. He falls to the couch and throws his head back, allowing a few minutes to pass where he feels himself drifting into a slumber with his large hand rubbing at his forehead, thumb and middle finger digging into his temples as he nurses a headache, only looking over at you when the couch dips under your weight.

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

Joel huffs at that, knowing that only you could find how to pull the levity out of a shitty situation. 

“I’m not—” Joel shakes his head, his hand falling to his lap, “We’re not doing that. It can wait until the rain clears up.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

There was no way to tell, really. It was all an educated guess, the darkened clouds hovering overhead letting you know that it didn’t have any plans to leave quite yet.

Joel doesn’t offer a response, his head tipping back against the back of the couch with his eyes closed, his hands resting in his lap as he shrugs his shoulders and settles, you tilt your head curiously.

“You seem tense,” You tell him, “like—more tense than usual.”

Admittedly, he was restless too. But, unlike you—he could fight it. 

All that energy, nowhere to put it toward.

There’s so much silence, a thickness in the air that lingers as his own gaze on you does. He’s become used to studying you; upset, worried, irritated—he’s got it all down by now. Although, he had one that stumped him hard: want— but, he seemed to be picking up on the cues, noticing the look on your face as your lip pulled between your teeth in absent thought, tilting your head at him. You’re staring at his exposed skin, the scruffiness of his jaw where he’s allowed his beard to grow out. 

“Fine,” You sigh, noting his stubbornness, “what about a game?”

He doesn’t like the way the word slips from your lips, noticing how much closer you’ve gotten. Your knees pressed into his hip as you slowly worked your way over, legs tucked under your ass. Joel’s eyes narrow before they relax, turning away with a grunt of indifference.

“Impossible,” You mumble under your breath, “look—either I go out there and risk my ass or you do it for me. It’s late, I’m hungry,” And, as if on cue, Joel’s stomach growls too, “and so are you.”

Joel relents, watching his chest rise and fall in one heavy breath, “What game are you talkin’ about?”

You could think of something on the fly, although Joel has done everything but touch you since the night prior—because if he did, he was doomed. So, you make the first move.

Your finger drags along his open flannel until it catches on the first button it finds, the rest of your hand slipping under the fabric and noting the lack of undershirt. He must have taken a layer or two off at some point, unbeknownst to you. His skin is warm under your hand, his chest hair soft against your fingertips.

Joel grabs at your wrist but doesn’t take the step to move it away—a warning. Stay still, don’t go further. He’s looking at you by then, eyes wider and more present and darker around the edges than usual, icing out the warm brown.

“Whoever loses goes hunting,” You suggest, “sound fair?”

“That still doesn’t explain the game,” His fingers tightening around your wrist, feeling your quickened pulse under his touch, “besides—you also don’t know shit about hunting game birds.”

“I can manage, Joel,” You argue, “can’t be that hard to kill a fuckin’ duck.”

Joel chuckles at the thought, a subtle smirk pulling at his lips and his cheek dimpling with the expression. He can appreciate the confidence, the stubbornness that you carried with every word.

“Rules?” Joel inquires again, a smile creeping its way onto your face as he takes the bait.

“You come, you lose.” It really was that simple. 

Besides, it was a better way to pass time than tense, uncomfortable silence. Sex could be easy–detached, emotionless, and fun. Something you desperately needed right now.

Joel is quiet for a while, longer than you’d like. The gears are turning in his head, his eyes trailing slowly over your frame, like he’s dedicating it to his memory, before they fall upon your face. His softer around the edges like this, still guarded, but less…vengeful. 

Fuck it, he needed this.

“I hope you can manage huntin’ on your own,” He taunts, earning a squeal of laughter as his fingers dig into your side and pull you to him, your leg swinging over his lap in time with his movements, “‘cause I don’t lose.”

Neither of you bother with anything other than your jeans, wrestling against each other’s confines and flicking open buttons on deft fingers, wiggling them down your legs and off as you leave his lap for a millisecond before he’s pulling you back to him with his hand wrapping around the back of your neck and squeezing, pulling you back far enough that you can see his opposite hand dip to your cunt, thick digits pressing against your clit as your eyes flutter shut.

While you expect intensity, his movements are torturously slow. Slow circles with his thumb against the sensitive nub while his middle finger teases your hole, clenching around the emptiness that yearned to be filled. He only grunts when you wrap your hand around his cock, hardening under your touch as you squeeze, jerking him to full attention.

Joel was a mystery still and you’re working out what he likes as you move, noticing the way his face twitches when you drag your thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the small dribble of precome at the tip as you rub, noticing the way his jaw tenses at the motion.

And you want to watch him, study him. But, his fingers are making it near impossible. Your sated sigh turns into a pathetic whine as he slips a digit inside of you to the first knuckle. It wasn’t nearly enough to quell the growing ache in your core, but then his teeth are on you.

Not his lips or his tongue—teeth digging into your collarbone as he pulls you to him, one large hand pressing against the center of your back and you hiss, cunt pulsing at the tinge of pain it allows but then his tongue is soothing over the marks his teeth left behind, lazy kisses following as he repeats the process along the expanse of your chest and eventually biting into the side of your neck as his fingers circle your clit quickly. 

Your opposite hand digs into his shirt at his waist, crumbling the material in your hand as you hand moves against his shaft quickly, hurried. It didn’t help that you couldn’t think, foolishly you expected to have the upper hand but it was easy to forget how quickly Joel could cloud your mind and rid you of any coherent thought besides want. And with that, Joel adds another finger, sinking them deeper inside of you

“You’re not even puttin’ up a fight,” Joel taunts, “I can feel that pussy squeezin’ around my fingers.”

You gasp, the heat in your gut swirling around as you try desperately to regain control. Your forehead drops against his shoulder, feeling pitiful as you moan and move your hips in time with his efforts and Joel chuckles beside you, so quiet you almost miss it. 

He’s amused clearly. It’s a taunting laugh, no deeper meaning than a ‘gotcha’. Because he did, he had you so wound up against his touch that you couldn’t think, making this game an easy win on his behalf. 

“Let me—let me suck your cock, I wanna—” You beg weakly, rambling incoherently, “—this isn’t fair.”

“You rules,” He retorts, “can’t go switchin’ up on me now, just ‘cause you’re losing.”

You feel the spiral coming, his hot breath against your neck as your hips jerk and the pressure builds. There was no use fighting it, giving into Joel’s selfless touch and his dirty words, moans growing in volume and intensity as he brings you over the edge with a satisfied remark.

“That’s right,” he declares with a deep growl, “go on, give it to me.”

The lewd sounds of your slick as he presses his fingers inside of you a few times as you catch your breath are enough to make you shove him away, too ashamed to allow him anymore satisfaction as he wipes his hand away on the inside of his flannel and reaches for his jeans, his eyes tracking the frown on your face as you settle into your own clothes again.

His fumbling with the button on his jeans as he leaned back, adjusting them better on his hips as he speaks to you, “I’ll be back in an hour,” he tells you, your eyes flicking up curiously despite your silence, “—you’re still hungry, right?”

If anything, you were ravenous now. 

“But, I lost.”

Joel shakes his head in amusement and slight disapproval, a smug smirk pulling at his lips.

“Either way, I was still goin’ out there,” Joel tells you, adjusting his still half-hard cock in his jeans and your gaze pulls down, unconsciously reaching for his arm but he shakes it off, standing on his feet, “—game’s over, I won.”

“But, you didn’t—”

Joel unravels his sleeves where they’re bunched at his elbows, buttoning up the loose buttons on his shirt before he’s wandering, reaching for his jacket folded over the back of a chair, effectively ignoring your attempts at returning the favor. He clearly didn’t care, so neither should you. 

He already seemed satisfied enough by the look on your face, knowing you were overconfident in the moment and hoping to knock him down a peg, but that had backfired. He considers a thought for a moment, knowing it was a bad idea. But, he wasn’t one for good, thoughtful choices as of late.

“Next time,” He offers quietly, tucking a knife away into his coat pocket and slinging the cheap bow over his shoulder, “keep quiet—shouldn’t take long.”

The words come as a shock, any inclination or acknowledgement toward your weird arrangement was enough to make your eyes widen in surprise, but you mask it well. Joel leaves without another word, braving the pouring rain for a desperate meal. It had been a long time since you’ve had a decent, filling meal. A handful of canned food a week, spread out sparsely to keep the three of you just on the edge of satisfaction. It wasn’t the best way to live, but it was all you had. 

The lighting cracks through the sky and is followed by a low, booming thunder that shakes the entire house as you sink into the couch, waiting anxiously for Joel’s return.

-

You can’t be accurate, but it feels like Joel returns right on time.

The storm had dissipated to a steady rain by now, occasionally fading into a soft trickle. He’s nearly drowning, but two ducks richer as he slaps the dead game on the table and slowly strips himself of his damp clothes, struggling with the sopping wet layer of his flannel. The fire was a welcomed warmth, his eyes closing as the floor creaked under your footsteps. He feels you hands before he sees you, helping him silently to unbutton his shirt.

It was harder to undress like this, the layers sticking heavily to his skin. When his flannel is unbuttoned you reach for his jeans, taking them to the sink to squeeze out the excess water before you lay them out in front of the fire, hoping it would be enough to dry them by morning. 

You repeat the process as he discards the layers, a silent chore to busy yourself while he strips to his underwear, not nearly as wet as the rest of his clothes but he hesitates, knowing he had an extra change of clothes in his pack.

He decides against it, finding that his hunger was far too persistent to allow him to go any longer without eating. He nods toward the already skinned and prepped animals on the table.

“Let’s eat,” Joel suggested, “before we ended up starvin’ to death.”

You weren’t going to argue, fetching the ducks off the table and presses them into Joel’s waiting hand, watching as he knelt down in his underwear and reached for two pokers resting in the holder besides the fireplace, situation the soon to be food onto the iron rod before he’s resting them directly into the flame.

You fetch a couple blanket off the couch as you watch, tossing one silently to Joel that he accepts with a nod, his eyes following you as you took a seat across from him, staying quiet as he turned the food a few times, allowing it a hopefully full cook—not that you could complain about eating slightly raw meat at a time like this.

The meal is messy but delicious, wiping your fingers against the blanket wrapped over your shoulders and licking away at the juices left behind and Joel mirrors you, devouring the food without a thought. It feels oddly domestic when you forget about everything happening around you, belly full as you set the iron rod aside and settle deeper into the cover.

You watch curiously, like a cat, while Joel rises to clean up the mess. His movements are slower, his stomach slightly fuller now that he’s eaten but it still amazes you at his broadness when the blanket drops to the floor. He strips out of his underwear without any acknowledgment, tossing them alongside the other slowly drying clothes and begins to depart for the bedroom, stopped by your hand scrambling for his wrist as you appear beside him.

He hadn’t even heard you move, wondering how you managed to keep so quiet. You’re startled by the warmth in his face, his gaze dropping to the fingers wrapped around his arm. His other hand is cupping himself, attempting some layer of decency but you’re only looking at his face.

“Tommy won’t be back ‘til morning,” You remind him, “how about a rematch?”

Joel doesn’t answer for a moment, feeling your stomach flutter with a disappointment you’ve never felt, but then he’s surging forward, fingers curling into your hair and tipping your head back as he kisses you, forcing in a sharp breath as his other hand mirrors and presses you backwards, guiding you toward the bedroom rather than the couch. 

His lips don’t leave, guiding you toward the mattress that was covered in a curtain Joel had ripped from its hinges. This kiss isn’t gentle, driven by lust and a need to keep you quiet. Joel finds it impossible to think around you sometimes and shutting you up was the easier route. So, it wasn’t genuine but it was needy, desperate. His tongue licks into your mouth as his hands trail down your body, lifting at the back of your thighs until you’re seated on the bed, level with his cock and eager to redeem yourself.

You pull at your top that Joel is itching to remove, his fingers tucking under the end of it and pulling up before you’re grabbing at his cock, dragging your tongue along the side and under, tracing the tip of your tongue along the vein that ran from base to tip, taking the thick girth of him into your mouth as you peer up, finding that he was staring right at you, eyes half-lidded and cloudy in the darkness but it was there. Admiration, a crack in his facade. He hisses under his breath when the tip of his cock presses against the back of your throat, repeating the motion until your eyes string with tears, trading your mouth for your tongue against as you circle it around the head.

“Up the bed,” He coaxes, gently pulling you away with a hand pressing against the front of your neck, a frown of disapproval thrown his way, “go on—up.”

You don’t argue though, crawling back on your hands as he tugs at your jeans, removing them alongside your underwear and leaving you in a complete state of undress alongside him. The clothes pile on the floor and Joel climbs over the edge of the mattress, prowling toward you slowly as you breathe consciously, comforted by the spread of Joel’s hand over your chest, his fingertips tickling the center of your throat.

“What’s the prize this time?” You ask softly, terrified that speaking too loud would spear the thick cloud of tension surrounding you both, “We never established that.”

“We can figure it out later,” Joel affirms, allowing the hand at your chest to trail down your stomach, to your core, fingers dipping inside of you again without warning, “when you lose.”

His confidence is attractive, but the smugness only infuriates you further. 

And with full stomachs, nearing the edge of exhaustion, you find that the delirium hits you both faster than you’re expecting. The pace is slow, exhausting—tantalizing and teasing touches that drag you both along the edge for far too long and you can’t tell if Joel’s doing it on purpose, bringing you so close to the end before letting you slip back, but eventually it happens by accident.

You flip him to his back when he’s distracted, his cock trapped between your stomach and his own as you grind yourself against his thigh lazily, his eyebrow pinching together at the surge of the sensation that hits him and he comes without warning, painting his stomach with the spurts of cum that spill from his cock with a low groan in his throat, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“You lose.”

Your voice is distant in his ears, but he chuckles quietly at your words.

By then, you’re both too tired to move and fall asleep as is, pressed against his chest as his cum dries against your skin and surely you’ll both regret it come dawn, but for now, sleep consumes you.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

BABE!! Tan for sure is the kinda guy to open your car door, pull your chair out for you etc, BUT imagine that you’re not used to that?? And so kinda keep doing it yourself, before Tan gets to? And he always lovingly scolds you for it?

OK SO NOW!! Imagine calling him when you’re drunk, asking him to pick you up, and suddenly he learns that you’re kind of a brat when drunk?? I FEEL LIKE HE’D LOVE THAT, like suddenly, you’re stood by the car door, waiting, chin raised and happily clearing your throat to signal to him to open it 😭 and he’s melting bc you’re finally not so darn independent and you let him care for you!!! (He also finds it hilarious) (also, you’d totally get him to take your heels off for you)

AAAAAGGGHHH OMG!!! love love it!!

this also disappeared right after I posted it??? idk what’s going on!!!

TANGERINE WITH AN INDEPENDENT READER.

omg omg this is so eldest daughter coded!!!!!!!!! (self indulgent but idc)

and you're independent and used to doing everything yourself, yup yup I see the vision. and also maybe not used to chivalry sooo..

— so like when you go do dinner/ have date nights out, you pull out your chair before he can even reach it (also the same for opening car doors, or doors in general) he just tsks at you, shaking his head "that's my job" or "what did I say?" bc he's told you so many times

— and when you're walking and you're on the outside (closest to the road) he puts a hand on the small of your back and guides you to swap places and says "what did I say?" (that's gonna be a running theme/ repetitive saying btw) 

— and when he drops you home after going somewhere he gets out the car to walk you to your door, you're like "I'll be fine. you don't need to do this" and he’s like “would you just let me be a gentleman” and he waits until you're in and he hears the door lock before he leaves

— he holds bags for you and dismisses your protests of carrying them yourself, he's all like "how many times have I gotta tell you?"

— AND so?? you're out with friends and you're drunk, you call him to pick you up. you give him your bag immediately, silently handing it to him with no reaction, not a smile or a glance, nothing. and he just squints at you bc you've never done it before

— and then when you're walking to his car, you have an arm around his back as he helps keep you stable (you're a bit sloshed btw) and bc he's so focused on getting you to the car, he forgets that he's on the inside of the pavement, but you don't. so you're like "swap. im meant to be that side" and he's kinda loving it bc it seems that all the things he's been trying to ingrain into you have finally worked 

— when you get to his car, you're waiting for him to open it for you, arms crossed, tapping your foot, and you'd slur something like "sometime today would be nice" and he's just so entertained and amused by it all!! he's like "you're right, sorry. I'll be quicker" so you reply with "that's what I thought" and he just does one of those low chuckling snickers bc he’s loving it a lot more than he thought he would

— and then when you sit in the car, your twist to pull your legs out before he can shut the door. and you lift a leg and say "my feet hurt" making him take your shoes/ heels off for you. and he's just so whipped and he crouches down to undo them and he's just holding under your heel AARGGHHHHH. "better?" is def something he says. and "'little miss precious' tonight, you are"

— AND THEN just as he's about to shut the door you say "wait" and he's like "what?" and you say "seatbelt. it's not plugged in" hinting for him to do it. so he grabs it and reaches over you to plug it in, and kisses your cheek before standing up straight. then finally he gets in the car to drive back

— he's loving that you're finally letting him help you, even if you're drunk and have no real control over yourself. he reminds you the next day about what you did, and you're embarrassed, like "no, I didn't. you're making it up. I would never do that" and bc he's sweet, he's like "yeah, you're right. just pulling your leg" and he pretends his teases were a lie BUT THEY'RE NOT. HE'S JUST SAVING YOUR FEELINGS

— ALSO JUST BC I LOVE IT SO MUCH if you say “I can do it by myself” he says “I know you can. but let me help you” 🫠

[austinsastrology8991]

Saturn the father you always wanted and always have. Saturn in da houses, and why your life sucks. Im blunt here so don't complain don't read if you can't handle the reality of saturn. Saturn in the first house - okay you don't like to try when you present yourself, you think people should just instantly respect you because youve been through many trials in life... well people usually dont know how to talk to you because you have a stick up your ass. Saturn in the second house - everyones greedy, but when you are, its not cool. Well it isn't because when you are greedy you act like a goblin. be more mature its okay to be greedy but your acting like its a virtue stfu. Saturn in the third house - everyone thinks your dumb af, and you are only because you lack confidence to drive your points home. you just need to learn how to communicate better, your not dumb but you act like a dumbass. Saturn in the fourth house - sad boy/girl now everyone knows you had a rough childhood but would you grow up already, everyone else has but your still stuck being sad about how life has treated you (or your momma/dadda) grow up your not getting any younger you can't change the past stop wallowing. the past has taught you well, use it to your advantage or let it hold you back. Saturn in the fifth house - pretend players who get played everytime. Always gotta pretend like they are fun but whenever you do try to have fun with them they are annoying. yes you could be fun in the bedroom simply because everyone knows your too sensitive to break someones heart... because your heart is the most broken. Saturn in the sixth house - the real try hards always putting in 100%. suck ups to there boss or whoever is above them. but when there authority disrespects them they go rogue and try even harder just to spit in there boss's face. i respect it because i got cap here Saturn in the seventh house - if your a bad person good luck in this life, because your karma is received ten fold by your partners, they always like to complete your karmic cycle because thats just how it works idk. so better act right or your partner will ruin it before you ruin yourself.

Saturn in the eighth house - will do anything to get to the top. no pain is too painful. well it all is, but the ends justify the means. when they put there foot down the whole room shakes. so when your making a move make sure its the right one because your power plays are on display for everyone and itll make or break you more than the other placements. Saturn in the ninth house - lazy asses, always looking for an easy way out. they know what the right thing to do is, but the likelihood of them doing it is never. its because saturn restricts there luck/ mind and they just have woe is me energy and its annoying make better choices, and if you dont stop crying about it. but if they act right saturn blesses them the fuck up. Saturn in the tenth house - okay these people think they are better than everyone and deserve everything, but they never receive the applause they crave. its never enough even if the whole room is looking at them they suddenly don't want it anymore. there karma everyone can see, and if its too good it feels like a curse, and when its bad and reality comes crashing down they just want to hide but they cant. own your life or it will own you. Saturn in the eleventh - there community will give them there karma, always these people dont have a place where they feel safe. because they never make anyone feel safe around them, then cry when no-one gives them that favour. stfu and treat us better and maybe we will do you better. Saturn in the twelfth - okay apparently this is where saturn is in its joy, and i guess its because god/ spirits judge you. and i guess thats a good thing because if anyone should judge you its him. except the pain here is you have ultimate freedom, you rarely get signs on what to do. will you make the right choice or the wrong once? well they are lucky because they always get there karma quickly so they can always recover fast. but these people struggle to empathise because they don't feel the energy of the room. sooooo just grow up you got the best saturn, and your karma resides is in your empathy. disclaimer - saturn wants you to be the best. and no one is.... so i like to think if you want a sense of direction (where are you going wrong) look at the saturn house and if you are successful congrats your doing saturn right. but be careful he always thinks you can do better, and he loves to humble you. so be-careful out there.

[honoredalone]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 .ᐟ

only want to fix it with a kiss on the lips, but i think i might.. 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞.

resisting your boyfriend’s blood cravings is so incredibly difficult at times especially when he looks at you with those sweet puppy eyes.

“p-please.. need you now, dove..” satoru whined into your neck, breathing in your lush scent of honey and the sweet blood running through your veins. he could almost hear the blood that flooded through your body and it made his skin crawl in desperation. “jus’ a little taste.. c’mon dove, ‘m stravin’.” he’s almost like a whining puppy begging for attention and who can resist a sweet, little puppy? that’s how you ended up here, under him, mewling like a little temptress.

“f-fuck.. keep squeezin’ me like that. y’er driving me nuts.” he groaned, his hot breath warming the crook of your neck. he inhaled deeply, his ears picking up on your blood running faster and faster as he thrusts become more and more erratic. “my perfect girl. g’nna let me have a taste? you smell so sweet.” he nearly sobbed at the throb of your pretty cunny. to entice you he lovingly nudged the sensitive spot on your neck with his nose, his mouth was drooling and his sharp canine gently dragged across your flesh.

“j-just.. be gentle?” you mewled as his thrusts slowed when he heard your permission to finally sink his fangs into your veins. his cock twitching at the simple thought of tasting your blood. “a-ah! ‘toru, feels ‘s good.” you cried, his hands gripping your waist possessively as he sucks at your neck desperately, your delicious blood sliding down his throat. he can feel his heartbeat speed as your taste spreads through his body, boosting his energy, thrusts becoming more purposeful, harder, more intimate. his pale skin started to glow, his eyes grew darker and his cheeks stained a pretty pale pink.

“never tasted blood so sweet, dove. got me addicted to ‘ya princess. g’nna let me taste you whenever i need?” his fangs departed from your neck, leaving a gorgeous purple and maroon mark. “fuck ‘ya look so good covered in my marks, dove.” he moaned like a slut gazing down at your bruised neck. his then hard, assertive movements became loving and gentle.

“‘toru, baby.. ‘m gonna— gotta..” you tried to formulate a coherent sentence but your brain just wouldn’t work alongside your mouth. “please… baby—” you begged and you were certain that he knew what you meant he just needed to hear you say what he wanted to hear.

his member started to ache with release as well, he never liked coming before you. “what is it my love? use your words.” he teased though his voice wavered as he spoke due to the painful clench in his lower abdomen. his body weight is fully laid onto you, his face obviously, in your neck. his pubic bone rubbing your clit simultaneously with his slow, sweet thrusts making your mind run laps around your head.

“wanna— needa cum ‘toru.” you whimpered, you felt his toned abs brushing against the soft skin of your stomach. he always thought you looked so pretty like this, flushed, makeup messy and your pupils giant hearts when you looked at him. satoru goes dumb with your pussy, he rambles little words. his mind is basically on autopilot, saying everything and anything that comes to mind. “baby? will you.. come inside? please ‘toru, need it. need it so so so so bad.” you babbled like a babe who’s learning to speak.

his dick throbbed, twitched and became so sore that it was almost painful. “want my babies inside? aw, how can i say no when you ask so so nicely hm?” his voice dripping in need and his hips stuttering when he finally releases without warning. “you take me so well, my pretty dove. g’nna keep it all inside?”

“yes! yes, thank you! thank you ‘toru.” you gasped as his cock hammers against your cervix, hard, shooting his cum deep inside of your womb. he continues to plunge his member in and out of your tight muscle, pushing you to the edge of your orgasm.

“how’re you still so tight, huh? make a mess, dove.” he licked a stripe over the previous bite on your pretty neck. with the intoxicating squeeze of your cunt he feels you leak all over him, the mess spreading to his porcelain thighs. “ha.. so fucking good, y’er so fucking good to me. lemme clean you up.” his long, sharp canines flash in the dim candle lit room as his pulls out of you slowly, careful not to lose too much of the white cream from dripping out of your quivering hole. he kisses down your body, your lips, chest, waist, thighs, finally setting sight onto your dripping pussy.

he nips at your thigh, drawing the smallest amount of blood. you yelped cutely, covering your reddened face. you always got so embarrassed when he went down on you but he knew you loved it, so with his lips sucking dark hickeys on your inner thighs, sucking up all the succulent blood you produced he dove in nose deep into your soaking sex. licking, sucking, kissing and biting your perfect cunt, nudging your sensitive nerves with the tip of his nose making your hips jolt against his face, soaking his chin. it was so vulgar the way his spit and your juices dripped down his face onto the sheets below him. he always devoured you like he’d never eat again and it was always so incredible.

satoru would reassure you saying that his blood cravings will never overpower the need to just have you with him. even if you had no more blood to give, he’d find a way to survive without it but he didn’t think in his 1028 vampire years alive he would ever let a mere human control him the way you do. “can’t live without you, dove. taste so fuckin’ good.” your breath became caught in your throat when he pushes his long fingers into your weeping core, curling them into your sensitive spot. “cum for me dove, c’mon i can feel ‘ya squeezin’ me. know you wanna.” he gloated, he gorgeously smirked against your radiant skin.

satoru’s other hand pressed down on your womb, pushing your climax out of you. your back arched and you pressed your core onto his face, dripping your essence onto his tongue. he moaned at your taste, closing his eyes. his long lashes brushing his blushing cheeks, his strong arms wrapped around you when he rests his head onto your waist with a content sigh. “want me to rub your back? need anything? food? whatever you need, dove and it’s yours.” he always took care of you right after nearly destroying you.

“no ‘toru, just need you to stay with me.” you whispered, placing your hand in his snowy locks, pulling gently, rubbing his scalp. it felt so good he nearly got hard again but he knows his stamina outlasts yours by decades. “i love you ‘s much satoru.” you lovingly purred, nails scratching down his neck, his fingers held each side of your waist.

he breathed small ‘i love you’s’ over and over again, leaving open mouth kisses below your belly button. sure, satoru has had lovers, many of them actually but never in his entire vampire life had he felt like this and he swears he’ll never let you go.

you’re his once in a lifetime, his one and only, his love. he’d turn you into a vampire just so you could spend eternity together or he’d plunge himself in the heart when you did eventually pass, all he knows is that he couldn’t go on in life if you weren’t by his blood-sucking side.

[makethemhoesmad]

with you

@azzibuckets was today’s victim

paige

—

when i was dragged out of my dorm to some bar i recognized but always forgot the name of, i wasn’t expecting to catch the end of a women’s basketball game on a tv screen just as i was ordering my first drink. i wasn’t expecting the losing team to be my school, either. uconn wasn’t normally prone to losing games. something that didn’t surprise me, for the first time that night, was the star player on the team, paige bueckers, choking back tears. most people wouldn’t spot it. but me, i did. i did because a few months ago, it was my arms she ran into, my shoulder she cried on, when this happened. i wonder who’s there for her now.

i didn’t realize that in an hour or so, id learn that the answer was no one at all.

~

later, still nursing my second drink, my thoughts clouded with the image of the girl i shouldn’t care about, it took me a moment to notice how the energy in the bar had shifted. i only looked up when someone brushed against my arm, jostling my drink and nearly spilling it. they turn around, and i recognize them immediately. i’d know azzi fudd’s smile anywhere. 

“oh my god, i’m actually so sorry, i can get you a new one?”

i shake my head, grinning at her.

“nah, it’s okay, i was gonna head out soon anyway.

she nods, and starts to walk away, before turning back and pointing a finger at me accusingly. 

“wait. you’re that girl, aren’t you? paige’s ex.” 

i nod, tentatively.

“don’t leave yet.” she states, rushing off into the crowd. it almost makes me want to walk out with my dignity, but some small part of me makes me stay. 

i stay in my seat long enough that im about to leave, when a flash of blonde hair sits her ass in the seat next to me and just tucks her face into me neck.

“paige, baby, i can’t do this again.” i say. but after those words leave my mouth, and i feel her sniff against my neck and snake her arms around my waist, i know that there’s no way im not doing it again.

“please, just come home with me. we don’t gotta do nothing, i just need someone to hold me. no, not someone. i need you.”

and that’s all it takes.

“alright.” 

she jolts us both out of our seats and takes my hand, dragging me to her car. i wave briefly to my roommate, who gives me a nod and a knowing grin. 

i know paige’s car, almost like it’s my own. she opens the passenger door and ushers me in, before shutting my door for me and going to her own side. she’s still doing that shit. she says nothing as she drives, just reaches for my hand, allowing for me to feel her grip get a little tighter, a little more desperate as she gets closer to her apartment. even when we get there, even once we’re inside, she doesn’t talk. only once we’ve entered her room, and she’s shut the door, does she finally say,

“i’m sorry.” 

i don’t answer. instead, i sit on her bed and open my arms, letting her fall into them and curl her face into my chest. i feel when the tears start to fall, but as i rub her back, i feel them stop. she sits up, looking at me with red eyes and a runny nose, then starts to unbutton my pants. before i mention her earlier words, she says,

“not doing anything, ma. just wanna be comfortable.” 

i let her continue, watching as she strips us both to our bras, her boxers, and my panties. she pulls her covers back, and despite being taller than me, she intertwines our legs and cuddles into my side, her arms wrapped around me like she’s scared i’m gonna run away if she lets go. i stroke her hair, whispering, “i saw the end of that game baby, it’s okay to be upset.”

“it’s not okay,” she say, “it’s only okay when i’m with you.”

~

when i wake up, still tangled in her, blonde hair splayed on my ribcage, i realize that im the one that’s there for her. and if i let her take my clothes off, show me that she never forgot my body, and then when i take hers off, show her the same, then, well, i wouldn’t rather be with anyone els

[frudoo]

I’m an autistic little gremlin- so hear me out, one of the 141 boys (or all of them idc- up to you) with a kid that they rescued on a mission and this poor little child is Autistic and hypersensitive to noise and they’ve gotta rework how they do things for now, you know, the boys are used to gunfire, loud comms, yelling at each other (all in good fun) but they don’t wanna scare the poor kid. (I just wanna heal my childhood with these men lmao-)

This was so sweet! I chose Simon, I hope that's alright!

Warnings: None!

“It’s alrigh’, little one, you’re gonna be jus’ fine,” Simon coos to the shivering child he’s holding to his chest. 

     If there’s one thing Simon hates the most on these missions, it’s finding innocent children terrified and all alone, trapped in the rubble of what used to be their homes. It reminds him of his own childhood, hiding away in closets with his little brother while his father wreaked havoc in the living room, on his mother. He would go through hell and back—he has, matter of fact—to make sure that no other kid would have to suffer the way he did, or worse. 

     Unfortunately, sick fucks still come in large quantities, intent on playing God and destroying perfectly peaceful homes with their agendas, leaving the innocents stuck in the middle of it. It destroys Simon, makes his heart grow ten times its normal size in an attempt to shelter every soul he finds to be like his own. Now, here, on the drive back to base, he holds the child in his lap, pressing their head against his chest and covering their exposed ear with one large hand. 

     In the short hour he’s been caring for this kid, Simon’s noticed how loud noises affect them—scratching at their ears or trying to bang their head against a solid surface—so he’s trying his best to keep the sound levels down. No obscene bantering with his teammates, only speaking into his comms when absolutely necessary. Even Soap is on his best behavior, keeping a trained eye on the child to make sure everything is alright. 

     “Alrigh’, kiddo, we’re on base now. S’gonna be a little loud, yeah? Jus’ keep your ‘ead on m’chest, and keep your ears covered f’me.” 

     Simon doesn’t dare make a move until the child nods in agreement. Only once he’s gotten confirmation does he stand, hopping off the Humvee and booking it towards the building. The cool air is calming, grounding, and immediately the kid relaxes in Simon’s hold, squirming to get down. The big man grins beneath his mask as he watches the child smile for the first time, only the quiet chatter and footsteps of soldiers to be heard inside. 

     The mission is far from over, but the team has a few days of reprieve before they’re back on the field. Simon takes the opportunity to learn more about the child, ignoring his superiors’ requests to get them out of here and find some foster care system to put them in—he knows how miserable it is there. The last thing he wants to do is shove this poor kid right back into another traumatic experience. No, instead, he finds some extra clothes to give them (even if they are way too big) and takes care of them the best he can—even gives them a pair of headphones to keep on when the world gets too overwhelming.

     Ultimately, Simon realizes that he’s become attached to this child, and when the mission is finally complete and they’re all free to go on leave, he takes the kid home with him. A couple of weeks later, he’s certain that this is the life he wants, to fill in as a guardian for this sweet, sweet child, to something to live for. He ends up retiring and adopting the lovely kiddo. 

     He found peace in the quiet, the simple life, and maybe finding this new happiness in the rubble wasn’t such a bad thing.