#I think it should be if you zoom in on it enough

[carlottastudios]

YES FELLOW KAEYA ENJOYER 🙌🙌🙌🙌 I woukd LOVE to hear your thoughts its so hard to find anyone talking about all of kaeyas lore and implications

HI FELLOW KAEYA ENJOYER!!!!

Thank you so much! I have actually started the process of writing down my thoughts and even realized that, because of how much all of Kaeya’s lore and implications and references connect together, a mind map might actually be a better format for listen all of my thoughts than just a text post. But then, ah…I started the VERY rough draft for this mind map and I’m realizing it’s already getting so huge and complicated, I’m actually worried about whether or not I’ll be able to make it cohesive and readable.

I think that might be why it’s so hard to find anyone talking about ALL of Kaeya’s lore & myth connections & implications. THERE’S JUST SO MUCH!!! Kaeya, you have so much going on!!!! And, like, good for you, beloved, but it’s not easy for the theorists!

Anyways, in case anyone is curious, here’s a look at what I’ve got so far for the super-rough draft of a mind map for all my unhinged Kaeya lore thoughts:

Thank you for the nice message, anon!

[gasstationpopcorn]

me @ kris's latest selfie: oh who's that pretty bo- hold on hold on a minute hold on honey

this is both sinister and diabolical....

biggest concert of our career, 20k people... good grief

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[has-bad-ideas-constantly]

ally grandma turned homophobic after grandchildren attended pride event without her *they attended very last minute*

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

rewatching 13s era for me is not so much diminishing returns as it is something opposite and eviler...............increasing losses? increasing losses

[mamoushiou28]

I was bored so I drew this

[sunnywalnut]

No because the last part actually saved younger me from a lot of trouble and/or embarrassing situations.

Like it's easy to pretend that your social media page is basically a diary and treat it as such. It's easy to vent about that annoying girl Brittney that goes to your school, or post a photo of your outfit as you wait outside of your school. It's easy to think that "well I'm 17. That's close enough" when adults say that no minors should be allowed to do x thing online.

But you know what's not easy?

Getting all of that back from bad people who don't tell you they're saving it.

From your online friends to literal strangers who read all of your posts and piece things together, everyone could be using this information for bad.

It is up to you to figure out what information you're willing to have used against you.

And yeah. Sometimes that means having boundaries with your online friends that you don't have irl.

There's something that I find equal parts hilarious and terrifying.

On one hand it is so funny watching the generation previous to mine (I was born in 84) absolutely say the most unhinged shit online, doxx themselves, and get fired, after spending my entire childhood teaching me online opsec because every stranger was a potential murderer. Social media done rotted their brains.

But on the other I'm seeing kids coming up, seeing them spew all their personals online, and using that to model their unsafe behavior and put themselves at incredible risk because the internet actually got way more dangerous than it was, ironically, when I was coming up being told I had to basically outsmart the fuckin CIA. Now the actual CIA and other bad actors (government, private, and individual) really are out there and these kids are watching fucking meemaw post a photo of the front of her house practically captioned with her fucking SSN and thinking, "yeah, sure, the adults know what's safe."

I gotta be a fuckin millennial about this and beg younger folx to listen to the VCR generation: hide yourself online. Nothing should go there you wouldn't want in the hands of the person who hates you the most.

Be safe, be smart, be a fucking ghost.

[krawdad]

Hear me out what if they went back to tent dragon for fantasmic

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ roommate!sukuna is, deep down, probably the biggest, most lovesick fool you know. he's also a massive pervert. and since he’s utterly shit at actually saying how he feels, he defaults to being a complete fucking creep in ways no normal person ever would.

he likes to stare, for starters. you can feel it whenever you walk past him – his eyes lock onto the curve of your hip, your ass, whatever part of you happens to be passing.

he tracks the sway of your hips like a predator, leaning back against the wall, maybe dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. he's not even subtle about it. if you catch him, his gaze doesn't waver.

"what?" he'll snort, all arrogance. "someone's gotta appreciate the view. consider it a public service." heat flares on your cheeks, but you just shoot him a glare, refusing to give him more reaction than that.

sukuna also likes to test boundaries with your belongings. you always thought it was weird that laundry was the one chore he never bitched about. sometimes, he even offers to do yours, which should’ve been the first red flag.

inevitably, he'll accidentally mix things up, making you sift through his boxers and worn shirts when you’re just trying to find your own stuff. then, later, you’ll find him lounging on the couch, casually inspecting a pair of your underwear you didn't even realize was missing.

"sukuna!" you hiss, snatching them back. his fingers brush yours, a fleeting contact he clearly savors.

"nice pair," he nods, eyes glinting with amusement at your blush. "i like the cartoon mice. don't blush. i'm sure they look great on you. or, off." and no, he doesn't bother mumbling that last part.

he also just happens to be wherever you are in the apartment. convenient for him, annoying as hell for you. if you're cooking, he'll suddenly need something from the cupboard right above your head, pressing his body flush against your back in a half-assed excuse of reaching.

he presses close enough you can feel the unmistakable ridge of him against your lower back through his thin sweats.

jesus, is he hard? you think, trying not to jolt away as he lingers just a second too long. (he probably thinks it's your fault; your ass just feels that good against him.)

more often than not, he pads around the apartment fresh from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel slung dangerously low on his hips. hair damp, ink stark against damp skin, water droplets tracing paths down the hard planes of his chest and abs…

god, those abs. enough to make your brain short-circuit right in the middle of a work zoom call. yes, zoom, because he has zero issues barging into your room half-naked, pretending he absolutely needed something that couldn't possibly be in there.

then, there are the nights you bring guys over. not often, but often enough to wind him up tight. the walls are paper-thin, your room right next to his. hearing you is unavoidable.

sukuna scoffs into his pillow, knuckles white where he grips the sheets. as if that panting loser could make you feel half as good as he could. he grits his teeth, the sounds filtering through the wall – your sounds – a raw torment.

closing his eyes, he forces the image: not that pathetic asshole touching you, but him. his cock sliding deep inside you, feeling that tight clench instead of the friction of his own fist. he imagines those choked whimpers and sharp cries are for him, ripped from your throat by his touch, his length filling you up.

he clenches his jaw, trying to stay quiet even as his hips start an involuntary rhythm against the mattress. fuck that, this is his place too. why should he have to be quiet when you clearly aren't bothering?

slick pre-cum coats his fingers as his eyes squeeze shut. his wrist picks up speed, jerking down his hardening dick, pulling hushed, rough groans past his lips.

it never takes long when it’s the thought of you, even with the distraction of that rat squeaking alongside you. he tries to time it, always tries to match his peak with the crescendo he hears through the wall.

a ragged groan leaves from his throat, followed by your name, broken and low, "oh, fucking hell," thick ropes of heat spurt over his knuckles, coating his lower stomach and thighs in sticky white.

his breathing slowly evens out, chest rising and falling as he tips his head back against the headboard, spent.

and hey, you're definitely not an idiot. sukuna might be, though. as you finally shove the latest disappointment out your door, you allow yourself a faint smile. your pervert roommate isn't nearly as quiet as he thinks he is.

besides, can he really not tell the difference between genuine moans and the over-the-top, fake-as-fuck performance you've been putting on lately?

one of these days, you hope he'll finally get the hint. or just grow a pair and do something about it. if you're going to be living with a creep, you'd rather live with a creep who actually has the balls to make a move.

[boyfhee]

ㅤㅤ DEVOURㅤ﹑ㅤpark sunghoon

ㅤ ﹙158O﹚────sunghoon is hot and he doesn ’ t know it ｡⠀

𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗋⠀ 雨，⠀loser vampire bf sunghoon x fem readerㅤ゛AMOUR⠀，skinship, fluff, petnamesㅤ﹙◜ᴗ⁠◝⁠﹚ㅤsunghoon biceps meal yeah .. this is very self indulgent ><

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ REBLOG FOR SMOOCHES !

the eerie silence of the apartment doesn’t escape sunnghoon’s attention. his footsteps feel oddly loud against the tiles, a sigh rolling off his tongue as he steps inside the kitchen; and a familiar voice cuts through the quiet.

“i think you should choke me,”

nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared your dear boyfriend for the words that leave your mouth as soon as he walks out of the shower.

with his head whipping towards you, he freezes in stance— jaw dropped, eyes wide open, head tilted in confusion.

“huh?” sunghoon gives you a questionable look, blinking him to some logic— anything to make sense of your words. “wouldn’t that be life threatening?”

and you shrug. “i could be into that,”

sunghoon doesn’t think he has met anyone like you in his seven hundred something years on earth.

his fangs amused you instead of scaring you the first time he told you he is a vampire. you went around for weeks wanting him to bite you— turn you— but he successfully talked you out of it.

now that you have found a trace of normalcy in the five weeks that you have been dating him, your mind finds amusement in his biceps.

“last time,” he pops a cherry in his mouth, shifting weight from one leg to the other. “you wanted me to headlock you,”

“and that was hot as hell,” you insist, eyes gleaming with mischief. if sunghoon didn’t know any better, he’d think you might have gone insane.

and you could be— evidently— the veins on his arms and hands do nothing except making you gulp, only onto that last string of sanity.

you don’t think your pretty face, vampire of a boyfriend realises just how hot he is, really.

he thinks it’s a plain obsession— well, one is supposed to be obsessed with their lover. he catches you ogling him when he’s changing the bulb and thinks it’s because you want something.

according to sunghoon, there is absolutely no reason for you to zone out while looking at his hands except that they are pretty, well maintained and manicured.

you also don’t think he knows you joined the same gym as him to watch him workout and not to accompany him in following a healthy lifestyle and improving your heart’s health. simply looking at him heals you enough.

even now, he is standing clueless about why your eyes have zoomed in on his biceps. sunghoon stretches his arm, unintentionally flexing his muscles and it drives you crazy. his sweats hang low on his hips and it’s a sight to see.

you need him and he can’t catch a hint.

“so is that a yes or no?” you make your way to the kitchen, standing behind him as he reaches out for the coffee mugs placed on the top shelf.

you wonder if he puts them there deliberately to tease you, giving you that taunting flash of a slip of his waistline as his shirt rides up when he raises his arm.

your boyfriend shakes his head with a sigh, clearly failing to understand the logic behind your request. “you’re weird,”

“just once,”

“no,” a curt reply.

you’re really testing his patience.

“c’mon, sunghoon, it’s—”

“darling,” and it’s quiet again, aside from your heartbeat echoing in your ears when he easily cages you against the counter, between the very arms that make you weak in the knees. “i am not doing anything that risks your life,”

stupid.

you want to tease, explain what you mean, but your words are lost. sunghoon is hot and his lack of self awareness is life threatening because he is standing close— so close, you can feel the scent of his cologne intoxicating your senses.

you can still see the remains of water on his neck, droplets making their way down his skin. his face is a little flushed from the hot shower while yours is from how hot he is making you feel.

sunghoon’s eyes trace your face up and down, almost setting your heart ablaze when you feel his gaze on your lips for a brief second.

“understood?” he mutters, low and quiet, tucking a finger under your chin to make you look at him, eye to eye, soul to soul.

and you can only gulp when he leans a little closer, pressing himself against you. “yes,”

“good girl,” and he’s gone, stepped back, focused on his coffee, once again unaware of how his actions have left you trippy and dazed.

it is quite infuriating because he does not do it knowingly. sunghoon barely tries and your world shifts a little, stomach flipping and chest fluttering.

unaware of your inner turmoil, he turns around and switches on the coffee machine.

your fingers trace over the edge of the counter mindlessly, mind in a trance half because of what happened, and half due to the sight of his muscular back.

another glance— a quiet step in his direction, lower lip tugged between your teeth and your arms snake around his torso from behind, a cheeky grin forming on your lips as you poke his biceps with your index finger. you’ve never been the one to give up. “can i bite?”

and sunghoon gives up, hands up in the air. “babe, i am the vampire in the relationship,”

[rosemaryhoney27]

Danny’s (Un)Deadly Detour

Danny Fenton should have known better.

Gotham was not a pit stop for casual road trips. It was the kind of city that screamed “keep driving,” especially for someone with Fenton Luck™. But he’d needed gas, a snack, and maybe a picture of Wayne Tower for Jazz. What he hadn’t needed? To get kidnapped by a clown on bath salts.

But here he was. Tied to a rickety metal chair in the middle of an abandoned amusement park, with cameras pointed at him from every angle. And the Joker—the actual Joker—was monologuing.

Again.

“…and this, my sweet little roaches of Gotham, is what happens when you wander into my city without a sense of humor!” the Joker cackled, his voice sharp and jittery as he zoomed in on Danny’s blank, deadpan face. “Let’s see what the Bat thinks of this fresh-faced nobody!”

Danny sighed. Loudly. “You know, if you’re gonna monologue, can I at least get popcorn? By the way the name is Danny.”

“Rude!” the Joker snapped, flinging a pie at him. Danny let it hit. Custard wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d dealt with today.

But the worst was yet to come.

Joker danced over to a second chair—this one wheeled in by a henchman—and with dramatic flair, yanked the bag off the second hostage.

It was Robin.

Not Nightwing, not Red Hood—nope, the angriest of them all. The one with the sword that had to be taught not to kill.

Robin’s sword was gone, but the glare on his face could cut through steel. “You will regret this,” he snarled.

“Ohohoho!” Joker shrieked with glee. “Isn’t this just delicious! A no-name civilian and Gotham’s pint-sized prodigy! Let’s spice things up, shall we?”

He pulled a lever, and both chairs were suddenly suspended above a vat of glowing green chemicals.

Danny blinked. “You have to be kidding me. That’s actual toxic goo? Like, cliché supervillain-grade?”

“It’s authentic!” Joker sang. “You’re welcome!”

A signal light flashed. Batman was watching the stream.

“Here’s the game, Batsy,” Joker said to the camera, eyes manic. “You choose! Robin, your precious brat—or the poor, sweet innocent who made the mistake of existing in Gotham. Pick one to save. Or I drop them both.”

Robin scowled but said nothing. Batman’s voice came through a speaker—low, angry, calculating. He was trying to buy time. “Let them both go, Joker. This won’t end well for you.”

“Oh, I know, Bats,” Joker giggled. “That’s what makes it fun!”

Danny, meanwhile, had had enough. He rolled his shoulders slightly. The ropes weren’t great—they were tight, but not ghost-proof. And he really didn’t want to risk Robin getting hurt.

Danny exhaled. “Welp. Time to Fenton this up.”

Before anyone could stop him, he broke free of his restraints with a loud snap, flipped forward—and let himself fall into the vat of chemicals.

“DANNY!” Robin shouted, jerking in his bonds.

Even the Joker stared in stunned silence. “Did… did he just—did he really—?”

Batman’s voice cut in, alarmed. “No!”

The vat bubbled.

The camera zoomed in.

The feed went black.

Joker didn’t have long to process the shock. A cold wind whooshed through the funhouse, flickering lights and rattling metal. The shadows stretched too long, too thin.

“Wha—what is this?!” he hissed, looking around. “Where’s my laugh track?!”

Then, behind him: a voice.

“I died,” it said, whispery and echoing, “because of you.”

The Joker spun—and froze.

Floating in midair, eyes glowing toxic green, was a white-haired, fanged apparition. Phantom. Danny. And he looked pissed.

“You killed me,” Danny intoned, letting the lights flicker with every word. “You wanted a show. I hope you enjoyed it.”

Joker stumbled backward, babbling nonsense. “N-no—this isn’t—there’s no such thing as ghosts—!”

Danny opened his mouth and let out a low, haunting wail—enough to shake the floorboards and rattle the Joker’s bones.

The clown's eyes rolled up into his head, and with a pitiful whimper, he collapsed in a heap.

…and soiled himself.

Five minutes later, Batman burst in through the skylight. Robin was already free, sword in hand, glaring down at the unconscious Joker.

“What happened?” Batman demanded.

Robin looked up. “He jumped in. Broke the feed. Then came back as a ghost and scared Joker into unconsciousness.”

Danny floated down behind them and shrugged. “It was either that or listen to another twenty minutes of his monologue. No offense, but your rogue gallery sucks.”

Batman stared at him.

“…You’re a ghost.”

Danny gave a lazy salute. “Half ghost, technically. Long story. Want some popcorn?”

Robin, for the record, was still annoyed. “You could have warned me before pretending to die in front of me!”

Danny grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Moral of the story: Never road trip through Gotham. Especially not with Fenton luck.

[rbfclassy]

YOU'RE SUCH A PERV! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...pervy acts that the jjk men do

INFO...jjk men (toji, gojo, nanami, geto) x fem!reader, panty stealing, jerking off, spying on you, taking pictures/videos of you, groping you, not proofread

INFO...likes and reblogs are appreciated

GOJO

gojo loves to steal your panties and use them to jerk off whenever you’re not home or busy with work in another room. The way he got fixated on this was by accident, seeing your lace panties lying on the bed because you forgot to fold them from the clean laundry and gojo, for some reason, immediately got hard. He didn’t care if they were used or not, but just the thought that they’ve been on you, snug against your pussy. Before he knew it, he was using your underwear to help jerk off and boy did he cum a lot. He was left shaking, panting and bewildered by what he just did. It became addicting, and now he steals your panties to jerk off. “Satoru, have you seen my pink lace underwear?” You ask. “Mmm, no. Maybe they’re in the wash?” He shrugs. Little do you know he has them stuffed in his pocket for later.

TOJI

this man is big on physical affection when it comes to you. Previously, he would hate being crowded and clingy with his partner, but something about you changed that in him. Toji is big on groping you and I’m talking like eyeing you down like a piece of cake, thinking of all the nasty things he could do to you before his big rough hands are reaching out to grab your titties. His thumbs rub over your hardened nipples with a smug smile on his face. Sometimes he’ll scoot by you, hand on your waist before saying, “scuse me, baby.” Pushing his entire bulge against your ass. All you do is look at him with narrowed eyes while he chuckles. When you’re lying down he likes smacking and grabbing your ass. At this point it’s muscle memory for him. But sometimes he ends up getting horny, and he’ll pull his cock out and start jerking off right there in front of you, still groping your body. “Toji, what are you doing?!” Your brows furrow. “Shhh, just keep watching the movie, sweetheart.”

GETO

this man is so pervy like big time perv. He will record you and take pictures of you anywhere he sees fit. Sneaking a picture of your ass in the dress you’re wearing. Taking videos of you while you’re changing. Sometimes he’ll zoom in your lips while you’re doing your makeup so he can jerk off to it later. He has a whole folder dedicated to you. When y’all are having sex, of course geto has to be the photographer he is. “Lift your skirt up for me.” He snaps a picture of you bent over the bed, the skirt barely covering your ass. Whenever you give him head, he’ll make it a priority to cum on your face so he can take pictures of you smiling. Isn’t he the best? Also, he for sure records you while you’re taking a shower, even if the steam is fogging up the glass, he can still see the outline of your naked body and that’s enough for him. “We should make a movie. What d’ya say, princess?”

NANAMI

as sweet as nanami is, I feel like he would be the type to spy on you and secretly listen to you if you’re ever playing with yourself. He can’t tell if you do it on purpose or what because each time he comes home, the bedroom door is cracked and you’re fucking yourself with the toy he bought you. As we watches you from the dark, he loosens the tie around his neck as he hold back the urge to bust into the room and fuck you senseless, but he gets a sense of adrenaline watching you silently, seeing you lose yourself as you call out his name. He palms himself through his slacks before he finally can’t resist it anymore and starts jerking off to you, following your movements. He knows it’s wrong to do it, he feels like such a creep, but goddamn does he love how it feels, the rush is gives him. “There you go baby, cum for me,” he whispers as his eyes intensely watch how your legs shake.

repost from my old account

[readwritealldayallnight]

Yours, Mine, Ours

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 1.5k words

warnings/tags: fluff

“So did the other two actually say no or did you just never invite them?”

“‘Course I invited them, you asked me to, so I did.” Simon replies with ease, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him. “They’re smart lads, lovie, they knew to say no all by themselves.”

You shake your head at him in disbelief but the smile that’s been plastered across your face ever since the two of you pulled out of your flat’s parking doesn’t budge. Simon’s been driving for a few hours now, and as stressful of an experience as that is alone, you’re too excited to mind the long journey in the car.

Simon is on leave for the next two weeks, something about Price having to attend a funeral following a death in the family, and deciding that everyone on the force was due for a bit of time off. Seeing as the Captain was going to be preoccupied during his time off duty, he had asked if Simon wouldn’t mind checking in on his house for him, making sure things were alright. He’d even offered for the two of you to stay in the guest room for the duration of their leave.

Simon had explained how Price knew that the two of you were living in a small flat in London, and apparently his home was in a beautiful, forested, isolated area which meant he had essentially no neighbours, something he also knew would appeal to Simon. He offered for the two of you to stretch your legs out there at enjoy the property, including the privacy that came with it.

Wanting to be polite, you’d told Simon he should extend the invitation to Soap and Gaz, thinking they might enjoy a nice, quiet stay-cation as well at their Captain’s place away from it all. It would appear your lover had different ideas in mind however. Though you couldn’t blame him entirely, the thought of having the cozy cabin all to yourselves was certainly more appealing.

Every which way you look outside the car, your vision is filled by endless blurry trees as you zoom by, the colours of the leaves having finally changed into the warmer, more vibrant colour palette that came along with the autumn chill. If the drive up to his property was any indication of how beautiful the area really was, then you were in for quite the treat.

Entranced by the beauty of the landscape in comparison to the city lights you’ve grown so used to, you fail to notice the glances Simon keeps sneaking your way, the smallest of satisfied smiles seemingly permanently etched upon his face beneath his balaclava. He was grateful that after explaining the situation and Price’s generous offer to you, you had been too excited to ask many questions, instead getting a jump start on packing a duffel bag or two.

You were one of the most intelligent, clever, curious people he’d ever known, and it was normally quite difficult to get anything by you. He was therefore feeling rightfully proud of himself as he drove you nearer and nearer to the home you believed belonged to his Captain. In actuality, there was no funeral for Price to attend, the sergeants had certainly not been invited along on your getaway, and the home you’d be staying in wasn’t Price’s.

It was yours.

Yours, and Simon’s.

The two of you had been living in that shoebox of a flat he’d considered as ‘satisfactory’ when he was only staying there as a bachelor, for far too long. As ideal as the location might have been, there simply just wasn’t enough space for two people to live together, even considering Simon’s absences for work and that fact that when he was home, you two were essentially always on top of one another anyways.

You’d both been searching for a new flat for what felt like ages now, none of the places you visited feeling like the right fit. Simon would be weary about a certain neighborhood, you’d be concerned with the lack of any balcony or outdoor space, he’d ignore the price tag that felt your eyes bulging, and you’d shake your head as you walked through doorways that had him needing to duck down.

Little did you know, Simon had been doing his own house hunting, outside of the city. You had told Simon you were fine with staying in London, understanding that it’s convenient to have everything near by. But Simon didn’t want to give you just ‘fine’. He wanted to give you a home. The home he intends to spend the rest of his life with you in, plans on carrying you over the threshold in your wedding dress, hopes to carry sleeping newborns in their car seats through the door.

For months now, Simon has subtlety been learning more about what that home looked like to you. He’d look over your shoulder as you scrolled through Pinterest, casually asking if you could show him your boards, you know just for fun, and paid very close attention when you showed him the one named ‘future house’. On his phone, he had a list a mile long in his notes app, from secretly writing down every comment you made while watching your home reno shows. He’ll casually ask you what you think of the houses you drive by, jotting down your answers in his mind, remembering likes and dislikes.

He believes that like you, it’s the people filling the home that matter more than the structure itself, as proven by the way you continue to put up with his minuscule flat. He knows you mean it when you say you’re alright with another flat. But he has the money goddammit, he has the means to do this for you, and when the listing came up for a home in what you’d revealed as being your ideal area to settle down in one day, the house resembling the amalgamation of everything he believed you’d described as being your perfect place, he knew he had to put an offer in.

And if there ever was anything about the house you didn’t like or wanted to change, he’d gladly do it for you, no questions asked. You want to paint the bedroom? Just tell him what colour you want. You want to change the railing on the wrap around porch? He’s on his way to the hardware store already. You need him to dig a stump out of the backyard to make room for your garden? Sit back and enjoy the show lovie, he’s on it. And when the time comes to build a crib? Well he may as well baby proof the whole house while he’s at it too.

He’s pictured your reaction a thousand times over in his mind. He imagines you’ll maybe give a small gasp when he turns the corner of the long driveway and you first see the cozy, two-storey home, surrounded by never-ending foliage of red, orange, and yellow leaves, the time of year perfect for appreciating autumn in the UK, as well as the privacy the tall trees grant you. He thinks the first thing you’ll comment on will likely be the windows, an item high on your priority list he knew to adhere to.

He imagines you kicking off your boots as you step through the door, pace quickening to explore every room, spinning in the kitchen as you joke about how jealous you are of Price. He pictures you groaning with envy when you spot your dream master bathroom, insisting to Simon that since you’d been tasked with checking in on the home you may as well see every room, right? He plans to explain away the obvious sparseness of the home as the Captain not having lived here long, as being very non-materialistic after all his years in service.

He’ll continue to play along for as long as he can, part of him knowing that you know him well enough that you’re likely to catch onto his deception at some point. However he hopes that before you start rummaging through kitchen cabinets and find them empty, too empty even for an absentee captain of a homeowner, that you’ll mention something along the lines of wishing you could stay here longer. That’s when he plans to slip a key into the palm of your hand, revealing that you might be able to stay longer than you believe.

The small piece of metal that’ll unlock the rest of your lives together, sits heavy in his pocket, in contrast to the light feeling in his heart when his hand reaches across the dashboard to grab a hold of yours, knowing that the content, lovesick smile you offer him is likely stretched across his face as well, staring right back at you.

Though you’re unaware that Simon is currently driving towards your home, and not away from it, you’re gently stroking the scarred skin across his hand, feeling as though your home is sitting right next to you, holding your hand and your heart at the same time.

[appleciderlove]

toxic!rafe saying do you want to see my biceps?

a/n: i saw this on instagram and was like wait this would be so silly to write about and so here it is ◡̈ hope you like it

more of this au here

you reposted it without thinking. it was just some dumb post that said “it’s always "goodnight" and never do you want to see my biceps. it was sorta funny and made you giggle.

a few mins later you hear a notification sound from your phone.

| rafe: hey | rafe: you could've asked

you stare at your phone.

| you: what?? | rafe: the biceps | rafe: i’ve got ‘em on standby

you bury your face in your pillow, already regretting everything. and he knows.

later, when you say “goodnight loser” he hits you back with:

| rafe: goodnight | rafe: are you sure you don’t want the biceps? | you: why would i want to see yours when i’ve already got options? | rafe: bet your “options” don’t have veins like this

rafe sent a photo

you zoom in and stare at the veins for an inappropriate amount of time.

| rafe: block them and come see me ❤ | you: i'm tired but you should come see me and bring strawberry milk 💗 | rafe: did you block them?

you roll your eyes at his message. he was cute, sure, but he wasn’t that important. definitely not important enough to be telling you who to block.

| you: i am going to sleep 😭 this is too much effort i'm about to pass out | rafe: whatever 🙄 goodnight baby | rafe: dream about me

[mixolya]

omg God bless that anon who requested the kpop idol ! reader x sae bc the idea of wearing his jersey while performing during a show and sae watching you has been stuck in my head for a week

ᓚᘏᗢ — sae itoshi: number one fan !

synopsis: you're on stage in his jersey and he's watching.

sae itoshi x reader ⭑ fluff / secret relationship / drabble + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

note: yayayaya

madrid was alive. cameras flashing, fans flooding cobblestone streets, scarves and lightsticks and noise that spilled past curfews. the city didn't sleep, not with the champions league final and your group's sold-out world tour colliding in the same golden-glow city.

sae itoshi had won the match yesterday evening. he should've been celebrating with the team but instead, he was sitting in the back of a blacked-out van, hoodie up, baseball cap low, while some of his teammates tagged along because "come on, it's yn's group, there's no way we're missing this."

he didn't answer them when they said that. just pulled up his mask up a little higher. because no one knew. no one knew that the leader of the most in-demand kpop girl group on the planet was his girlfriend. no one knew that between rehearsals and press junkets and european away games, you carved out slivers of time for each other like thieves. that your calls came past midnight. that your matching lockscreens were never posted online.

and now, he was here, in a sea of screaming fans, stage lights melting overhead, just for you. the opening notes of the next performance blared through the speakers, something upbeat and punchy. the crowd erupted as your group ran back onto stage in coordinated outfits: each one of you wearing a football jersey, sleek, fitted, stylized with your group#s logo embroidered above the club crest.

sae sat up straighter. his fingers froze around the water bottle. one teammate nudged another beside him.

"bro- look." and there you were. front and center, spotlight sweeping over you, sweat at your temples, eyes blazing, wearing his jersey.

re al, #10, itoshi.

and the crowd didn't know, they just screamed because it was cute, trendy and a nod to the football energy flooding madrid that week. they thought it was stylish and clever marketing. sae sat stiff in his seat. he hadn't blinked once since you walked out.

on stage, you were catching your breath between songs, chest rising with each inhale. the lights dimmed slightly for the next vcr transition, and the fans chanted your group's name in perfect harmony, an ocean of lightsticks swaying like waves.

you brought the mic to your lips, a mischievous smile curving as you stepped forward, tapping the badge on your chest. the screams hit another octave.

"this one's for madrid tonight!" you shouted in near-perfect spanish, breathless and radiant. "did you guys catch the game?"

the stadium erupted, flags flew and fans roared back. you laughed, biting your bottom lip, and added playfully, "do you guys want to know who i was rooting for?"

the crowd screamed, a thousand voices tangled in excitement and curiosity, chanting teams and names, some yelling "barcha!" just to stir the pot. you raised a hand with a coy smile, pretending to deliberate as your members giggled behind you.

"hmm.." you tapped your chin, still breathless from dancing, eyes glinting under the lights. "should i tell you?"

they screamed yes.

you turned slightly, letting the jersey on your body do the talking as you twisted enough to show the back - itoshi, 10. the cheers doubled, even louder now, and the camera zoomed in to project his name and the jersey number across the screen.

"it's a cute jersey, right?" you grinned, winking. "i think he's pretty good!"

somewhere high up in the stands, hidden beneath a cap, sae itoshi stared down at you. and even though no one knew of you two, it was more than enough.

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[floralpools]

Professor Howlett

Warnings: Minors dni, smut, no protection, fingering, vaginal, doggy, pet names, squirting, age gap (legal!), first person

Pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Student (Mutant) reader

Summary: Your history professor always seemed uninterested in you—well, that was until you missed his class.

Word count: 2.7k

…

Throughout high school I’ve always kind of stood out. To be honest, I only have myself to blame. But, you see, bright colours and statement pieces are just so much more appealing than wearing something bland. And unfortunately, I did more than just “stand out” that day, just three weeks away from senior graduation. That fateful day… I was so close to the finish line when my stupid ex-boyfriend discovered my secret and outed it to the entire student body.

Truth is, i’m a mutant…

That’s what led me across the coast for most of the past year, running from god knows what. I had heard the stories of mutants being hunted and missing, and I didn’t intend to stick around long enough to be next on someone’s hit-list. I prayed I’d at least make it to my 20th birthday.

But then, my days of swindling folks for cash and food came to a stop, when I spotted a man with red-tinted glasses watching me. His invested gaze observed my every movement, so, I quickly grabbed all my shit, and the last bit of petty change I managed to get, and sprinted into the crowd.

Just when I thought I was in the clear, my face collided with a broad, firm chest. I pressed the heels of my palms into it, and felt the cotton of his white shirt, and the rough, yet smooth texture of his worn leather jacket.

Logan Howlett—or should I say, Mr. Howlett, my history Professor...

After he and Scott captured me, I was dragged by the ankles to their school for the “gifted.” I still remember cringing when they told me where we were headed. But once we arrived, and I saw all the kids who were like me, going about their lives freely, I knew everything would be more than okay.

And one thing I knew for sure, is that I wouldn’t mind attending Mr. Howlett’s class. Did I know jack-shit about history, yes. But I’ve always had a thing for the older guy, and from what I’ve heard, he’s more than enough in that department.

...

This morning, racing out of my room, I swore profusely at the time... Just my luck. The one day of the week I get to see and listen to Logan talk for an hour straight, my alarm malfunctions.

Multitasking between attempting to put on my hot-pink heels, wrapping my sparkly bag over my shoulder, and locking my door, I missed the approaching figure behind me.

“It’s past 11, where do you think you’re headed?” I swivel on my toes, spinning to face Storm.

“Class?” I sound meekly, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“The only class you have left today is at four. You’ve already managed to miss the rest,” she scolds plainly.

“Noooo,” I fake astonishment and defeat, as I slowly back away from Storm's scrutinizing stare.

She calls my name after I’ve taken at least two large steps backward. “Logan wants to see you,” she states, visibly exasperated.

“Oh?” I straighten my spine, stopping my next step short. “Ok!” I exclaim, a little too perky. She huffs a faint smirk and walks off, and I take flight, zooming to Logan’s class room where he’s most likely waiting, dozing off in his chair.

Lo and behold, after knocking once and receiving no response, I open the door to see him snoring. With his legs fully extended, and feet resting on his desk, I bask in his lengthy physic. Then I giggle, moving towards him.

“Mr. Howlett?” I call politely before clearing my throat rather loudly. He grunts in his sleep and I smile. “Mr. Howlett?” I repeat even sweeter. A second later, I swear he mumbles my name and my heart stutters, and yet, he’s still sleeping.

I move in closer to his ear. “Logan,” I announce rigidly, and the change in tone makes him flinch, legs falling off the table, eyes popping open.

He rasps my name, his voice echoing throughout the classroom. I refused to move away from where I stood, despite the closeness. I wanted to seem unaffected by him, though in truth, I was anything but.

With his lazy eyes roaming over my skin, my heart thrashes wildly, beating against the cage I call my ribs. Logan then clears his throat, and rolls his eyes to look away from my attire, as he usually does—giving me a once-over before hauling his focus back to his lecture.

“You missed class. ‘sn’t like you,” he notes, almost to himself.

“Yes, and I’m sorry-“

“I hope it wasn’t cause you were too busy picking that outfit.” Logan scoffs and my eyes widen.

He’s always made snarky comments, and this wasn’t anything new, but every damn time he does, I still can’t help the boiling feeling in my lungs that makes me rise to defend myself.

“No, maybe I just felt like sleeping in?” I declare. A short-lived chuckle escapes him.

“And you’re just gonna admit that?” He smirks as he faces me. “I don’t like kids skipping my class.”

“First off, I’m an adult, second, you don’t care when kids skip your class,” I retort with a grin that beams across my face. His smile drops the second mine comes into full form.

He’s never seemed fond of my smile, or maybe it’s just me…

“You don’t skip my class.” He states once again, and my head quirks in confusion.

“Um, I’m sorry?” I try to compromise, “It won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” He remarks dangerously.

My brows furrow. “Okay…? I don’t get why it matters so much to you Mr. Howlett.” I place my hands on my hips, gazing down at him in his chair like I'm reprimanding a child. Which he is not akin to, especially given the fact that he’s the teacher, not me.

Logan lifts off his chair, standing up, leather heels hitting the wooden floor. I almost gasp when he towers over me, clearly trying to intimidate. “Watch your tone, or I’ll fail ya,” he counters, fighting a smirk.

“What?” I yelp, and his smirk breaks through his stoicism. My jaw goes slack. “Mr. Howlett, that’s not funny!”

“What isn’t funny, is you pretending like calling me 'Mr. Howlett,' doesn’t turn you on.”

I freeze, suddenly drowning in disbelief.

Was this one of my daydreams? Am I really awake right now?

“You heard me— you damn highlighter,” he asserts, eyes flickering to my outfit again. “Call me Logan for fucks sake, if you’re really an adult.” His gravelly voice loses all its humour, and I stay glued to the spot. “Get outta here, would ya,” Logan then orders before he leisurely retakes his seat, getting comfortable for his next nap.

Unable to drag myself away, my eyes refocus on the subject of my desires. A wave of urgency takes over. “Why do I have such a thing for assholes.”

Before Logan can respond to the insult with some more hostility, I sit on his lap, dropping my purse to straddle his hips. I then cup his perplexed face and crash our mouths together. He grunts in surprise, as if he didn’t expect me to retaliate, as if he didn’t expect that I would actually want him this way.

He really is all bark.

Half-heartedly, Logan tries to pull away in between kisses, whispering my name as a small protest, but he immediately gets muffled by my lips. When I grind on his lap, his objections quickly turn into a fierce groan.

Logan then takes my hips into his large hands, tightly gripping my flesh to push me back onto his desk. I whimper as his crotch stays stuck to my core, even as he manhandles me. One hand then moves from my hip to my neck, holding it, then it slowly sliding to my jaw, grasping it to give me a hungry, pressing kiss. His tongue laps my mouth, completely dominating the kiss. I struggle to breathe.

Just as I’m about to pull away to comment on how eager he seems, his other hand flips me over with ease. My stomach is now on top of his desk, his crotch, like iron against my ass, and his hands trace down from my shoulder blades, to my bum. With my head hung over the desk, I pant, practically drooling.

“You’re asking for detention pinky,” he mutters, and I respond by pushing back into his hard cock.

“I'm a sucker for extra attention, teach,” I breath out as sensually as I can muster. He chuckles lowly, and I shudder. The pressure of his crotch doesn’t change, and his hands continue their unhurried venture of me.

“You like attention?” Logan asks, his tone becoming surprisingly soft. His voice makes me shiver and whimper, yet again.

“I like yours.”

“Just mine?” He questions darkly, telling me exactly what he wants to hear.

“Yes,” I whisper.

His voice drops an octave when he swears, rolling his hips into me once more. I moan loudly. “Shhhh princess, you tryna alert the entire building?” He asks with amusement evident. I shake my head, no, and he just dips his head to laugh by my ear. “Good, because I don’t like sharing your attention,” he says passively, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “And I’d like to be the only ‘asshole,’ that gets to see what’s under these ridiculous clothes.”

“Hey!” I object weakly, and feel his smile before he leans back. I turn my head over my shoulder to catch him peering down at where our bodies meet.

“You probably want me to fuck you on this desk.” He speaks as though I’m not here to hear him. “Ya probably want to be taken right here, so that every time you’re sitting in my class, you can imagine me inside you.” He trails off as his hand pushes up my shirt, touching my lower back. “But we can’t do that,” he sighs hoarsely.

“Why?” My reply is so quick that I have to grimace.

He chuckles without humour. “Because… if we did, I’d get hard every time I’m in this fucking room, and that ain’t the smartest idea.” I moan at his crudeness and gasp when he suddenly pecks my naked spine, just below the clip of my bra. “Christ—even your lingerie is pink huh?” His chuckle sounds like silk. “Imagined it would be.”

My legs rub together at his words.

“You imagined it?”

He pauses. “Hell yeah I did, though I tried to fight it,” he muses in between a groan. “It didn’t take me long to figure you wanted this too, princess,” he murmurs almost proudly.

After a long beat of silence, and a little grinding, I speak up again. “So now what? If you’re not going to make love to me here.”

He slowly pushes the hair over my face, behind my ear, tilting my head to face him just a bit. He then leans down and kisses me on the cheek.

“I’ll come to you,” is all Logan says as he reluctantly wrenches himself from me, just after giving my ass a mellow slap. I gasp and nearly pout at the loss of touch. We then hold eye contact as he backs away. “Get going, otherwise you’ll be late for class,” he teases airily, and the edge of his lips twitch upwards. I nod and rush out the room with a grin plastered on my face—which stayed on my face for the rest of the day.

...

After a long, vigorous day, I finally collapse onto my plush bed with a hefty sigh.

“Took you long enough,” a dark voice rings out. There’s a hint of a familiar sass that makes me jolt upright. I spot Logan leaning on my wardrobe. His tight shirt strains against his chest when his arms cross. “Been waiting to ‘make love' to ya all day,” he claims with a goading tone, repeating my earlier remark.

(My best guess is that he assumes I’m a virgin from that sentence alone.)

In an attempt to remedy my reputation and sexual appeal, I sit up on my bed, elbows bracing my body upright, and I slowly spread my bent legs. Biting my bottom lip, I feel his eyes shift down and blacken. “Get on with it then, Logan.” His name rolls off my tongue. The challenge makes his head jerk in an almost feral manner, and I gulp.

“You’re asking for it,” is all he mumbles before pouncing on me. Our limbs tangle and I moan as his leg presses into my clothed clit.

“Please,” I just about sob, to which he responds with an aggressive kiss and another crushing rub of his thigh.

I moan louder, and he grunts, “You like that?” I shove my hands into his hair, running my fingers through the thick strands. He lets out a coarse groan.

Loving how vocal he is, I decide to encourage him by groping his cock over his rugged jeans. “Fuck, baby,” he groans out when his mouth leaves mine. He then runs his tongue over my neck and collar, soon nibbling on my earlobe. His thigh continues to make work of me, and I match his pace, grinding against his jeans. “You're so dirty,” he grins while his nose brushes my rosy cheek, and then he's kissing me. “I love it,” he professes with amusement, and something more gentle.

Just as I begin to undo his belt, he flips me over onto my stomach just like before. Then, when I'm lying flat underneath him, he grabs my hips to lift them towards his crotch as he kneels above me. “That thong better be pink,” he jokes as he strips me bare. He groans in satisfaction when I’m left in just my underwear, tailored for his viewing. “Unreal,” Logan practically purrs.

I wiggle my ass playfully, and he growls and smacks it harder than he did in his classroom. I squeal into my pillow, immediately going quiet when I hear his belt being ripped from the loops of his denim. Leaving my underwear in place, he runs his digits over the lace, making me whine, "Logan."

With his name on my tongue, it shortly turns into a cry as the lace covering my clit gets moved to the side, and two meaty fingers dive into me. "Shit, princess," he rasps. "How am I gonna fit?" He asks rhetorically, and I choke a sob, as he wastes no time building up an energetic pace, with his fingers.

He swiftly tears an orgasm from my trembling body, still holding my hips up with one hand. When his fingers leave, I hear his mouth clean them, and I swing my head to face him hastily, but he shoves my head back into my pillow. "So eager," he more or less snickers.

"Very," my smothered voice emits, barely audible.

I nearly shriek when his tip swipes my wet slit. Logan, without notice, suddenly pushes himself inside me, with an agonizing slowness, but I quietly persist. "Atta girl, that's it," he lazily groans out encouragements. My hands pathetically slide onto his thighs, unsure if I'm urging him for more, or begging for discretion.

At once, he shoves himself in all the way, and I let out an extensive sigh. His palm, which was just holding down my head, joins his other hand on my abandoned hip. He lets out various curses, along with my name, and begins to move, in and out. Soon enough, he's pounding into me at a savage rate, completely untamed. As well, it seems purposeful, how he simultaneously bends down to growl and moan in my ear, still thrusting.

He stirs another orgasm, still notably, not experiencing his own. "You look real pretty like this princess," he begins to ramble. "Gonna do this every fucking day." The rest of what he says gets lost in translation, as I grow overwhelmed and overstimulated.

Thoughtlessly, I try to crawl away while he still has my lower half hoisted up. Once Logan realizes what I'm up to, my pitiful effort has him laughing. "Where ya going?"

"Lo, it's too much-"

"Lo? Call me that again, it's cute," he hums.

"No more," I whimper, ignoring him.

"Just one more baby," Logan coos, while somehow increasing his pace, making me cum instantly, squirting a little. His moan rumbles in his chest, and he doesn't stop hammering into me. I grip my headboard, and one of his arms stretches alongside mine, to do the same.

When he cums, his grip snaps the wood, breaking a part of the headboard, making me shout in between sobs. He seems to not notice the damage, too busy finishing on my backside.

After a long minute, he slumps his large frame beside me. One of his arms stays drifting across my skin as his eyes intently coast over my features. "Maybe consider skipping my class more often," Logan expresses as his lips slightly tip upward. He presses his lips onto my shoulder.

I smile, giggling, "Why?"

"Cause it doesn’t matter where I fuck you, there's nowhere I won't get hard looking at that pretty face," he smiles dreamily, "And you're impractical wardrobe.”

I giggle, "You have a way with words," I pause and smirk, "Mr. Howlett."

He rises onto his elbow with a devilish grin, "Now you're just begging for it princess."

Part two