#along with the map design

[shkika]

thoughts on watcher if you've had time to play it?

im so happy you're here we welcome you!- rough wip

rambling in the tags about the dlc!

[ajastu]

controversial(?) take: i actually enjoy the combat system in veilguard way more than in any of the previous dragon age games.

Like, it actually keeps me engaged. Feels like my involvement consists of more than just like. click ability when its off cooldown. it was a chore in origins, in da2, in dai...but datv? lets just say i havent thought about downloading a 'skip combat' mod Once in my 4 playthrus

Like, as much as it was funny to just stack the inferno, blizzard and tempest spells on top of each other n let them take care of the enemies...at some point it really does get boring

like. i never played any of these games on anything more than easy difficulty bcs i just could Not be assed. First time i increased the difficulty was veilguard n i havent even thought about going back down. Its fun, the pace is satisfying, and the build is much more...comprehensible than the previous ones. I'm actually having fun combining items/abilities etc before a boss battle.

like, ur own character was already a lot to manage before this, but then u have to manage the same amount of Build for the rest of the companions too??? I get how that would be fun for some people, but for me it was a nightmare every time dflkgjdfkjg thank god for auto level up etc etc

The only time i remember having fun with the combat was the quest where u have to help defend redcliff from undead in origins. And that was just bcs i had to figure out how to keep every npc involved alive kjhjkhjkh

this is all personal opinion ofc, bcs i can see the appeal of the previous games for people who enjoy tactics and stuff like that. I guess its like, to each their own kind of moment

[waywardsalt]

completed fe conquest on hard mode :)

[shirogane-oushirou]

[cw vent: chronic illness, general world politics mention w no detail)

"man. i'm so tired. i feel like i can't do anything selfship related. is it because my energy's been sapped from family visiting and everyone wanting to do ~summer activities~ nonstop? am i so in my head about "getting ren's story right without stepping over any lines" that i've backed myself into a perfectionist corner? is the world just going to shit so hard that i can't have one (1) minute of escape on this blog before going back to working through the political hellscape we're in? god even trying to make this plushie pattern is killing me even though i want to hold my guy So Badly AUGH."

/finishes the plushie pattern after trying multiple body bases and literally buying a japanese ebook about plushie face and hair design/

"actually what if i lived forever and spent all of that time making an army of these fuckers to swim in? what then?"

[xprinceling]

────୨ৎ munch riki.

·˚ ༘ 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑌𝑂𝑈.

ׂ╰┈➤ s. 𝑟𝑖𝑘𝑖 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑢𝑠𝑠𝑦 wc. 505. w. 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡 + ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠 (18+ 𝑚𝑑𝑛𝑖!) n.𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦..

munch!riki.. who doesn't just eat pussy; he treats it like a sacred decadent ritual. He'll spend hours between your thighs if you let him, mapping every gasp, every little twitch, every choked-off whimper like he's studying for a choreography he's desperate to ace. His tongue moves lazy and deliberate, savoring the way you clench around nothing, how your hips stutter when he hums against you. He loves when you beg him to hurry up, just so he can give you one of his diabolical smirks and murmur:

’’But I'm not done tasting you yet."

munch!riki.. who the more you unravel, the more feral he becomes. He'll pin your thighs apart with bruising grip, watching your face as you sob from overstimulation, his lips glistening with your arousal. And when you try to squirm away, oversensitive and shaking? That's when he drags you back, growling:

"You're not going anywhere, sweetheart. I decide when you're done."

munch!riki.. who brushes his thumb over your bottom lip at dinner. Silent whispers, such as "I can still taste you" while you're trying to focus on things, which require your immediate attention. Lingering eye contact as he slowly licks syrup off his ring-covered fingers at breakfast. He lives for the way your breath hitches, how your cheeks flush - knowing you're replaying every filthy thing he's done to your cunt.

munch!riki.. who fingers you with his chrome hearts rings on, the cold metal contrasting deliciously against the heat of his tongue and the wetness of your pussy. He takes his time, letting your arousal paint the intricate designs of the rings - sharp edges and engraved details - while they drag teasingly over your folds before pressing inside. The weight of the jewelry adds just enough pressure, amplifying every sensation as his fingers curl just right.

Sometimes, he’ll twist a ring slightly, letting the band catch on you in the most maddening way, just to hear you whimper his name. And when he pulls out, the glint of silver against slick fingers is a filthy reminder of how thoroughly he’s marked you - even without leaving bruises.

munch!riki.. who adores turning you into a needy, pleading wreck. He’ll lay you out, spread you wide, and then just… watch. The man will trail his fingers along your inner thighs, kiss everywhere but where you want him, until you're arching off the bed, whining his name. And when you finally break, he'll reward you with a filthy grin and a slow, open-mouthed lick that has you seeing whole galaxies.

munch!riki..who will bury his desperate face in your panties just to inhale deeply, groaning like an addict. If you've been out all day, he'll push you against the door the second you get home, rutting against your thigh, while he mouths at your neck, muttering:

"Fuck, you smell so good - need to get my mouth on you, now."

And if you tease him? If you shift just right so your scent hits him? He'll snap, flipping you onto your backside with a snarl.

-

divider credits: cursed-carmine

[nostylesimsstudio]

Hey there, friends! 😊 I’m absolutely thrilled to share my Vännäs collection with you! 🛏️✨ This wonderful set features 11 delightful new items:

3 adorable book stacks 📚

1 charming camera 📸

1 lovely table lamp 🛋️

2 cute little table plants 🌱

1 cozy double bed 🛌

1 stylish shelf 🪑

1 adorable rocking chair 🪄

1 beautiful vase 🌼

This collection is **Base Game Compatible** and offers 26 fun swatches

.All the lots are designed to be fairly low-poly, and I have included custom normal and shadow maps along with custom thumbnail overlays.

You can find the custom content by searching for "nsxwl."

--- 𝑇𝐸𝑅𝑀𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑈𝑆𝐸 ---

Please avoid redistributing or uploading our recolors elsewhere. If you use them, I would love it if you tagged us so I can reblog your amazing work.

💕 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡, 𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒! 💕

download (Patreon)

[remxedmoon]

your friends don’t know what to do.

so!! i redrew every single enemy in the game. in the span of like 9 days (excluding the king i made him right after the last update). that’s abbbout 79* drawings total, with only 3 custom ones for once!! i’m so normal. as always, these are free to use with credit!! go nuts!! spritesheets are included <3

got some notes under the cut, along with As Many Enemies As I Could Fit without making this post obnoxiously long. and i failed. i had to swap between the app and browser several times and i still couldn’t fit every drawing. open this post at your own risk (silly).

okay so first of all. what’s with the asterisk. well. I Drew A Lot More Than 79 Assets Actually. they’re getting posted separately, because this post is ABSURDLY long. you can find most of them in the miscellaneous folder, but for a bit of clarity, i added the teleport map and a bunch of ui elements that reference sprites from the icon sheet. and also the game over and loop back animations but i haven’t finished the spritesheets for those because they’re a pain in the ass so they’re not in the drive yet

if you missed my complaining a few days ago, a few enemies might look a bit crunchy in the actual game? specifically, calamité and désespoir were drawn at the wrong size, because their images in the files do not match the spritesheets! i avoided the issue with most of the other enemies, those two just blindsided me. sorry about that!

^sadnesses having inconsistent designs was actually a running theme with these. détresse rock has an unused design in the files (which i managed to catch before having to redo it thankfully), anxiété has extra spikes that don’t appear on the spritesheet (sorry i was too lazy to fix that one), even the version of the friend rescue in the files doesn’t match any of the frames in the spritesheet. hfjfhfj. sorry about the quality issues.

tangentially related to that, massive thank you to @riggedbones for grabbing the individual frames for the animations for me!! they made my life so much easier. vs friends would’ve been so annoying…

speaking of the animations! hi can you tell i’m not an animator. these were my first time doing Anything animation related since, like, middle school. super sorry for the Jank in some of these! the friend rescue looked way better when i drew it 💔💔.

bourdon’s hands also might act a bit odd, my apologies. the sizing ingame is SUPER inconsistent (why is one of the hands SMALLER than the other????). once i’m able to actually test the mod, i’ll try to fix it wauaua.

the 3 custom sprites are for the triplets! i ended up making two versions for each, one that follows the ingame art, and one with my personal designs for them. i like my own designs for them, but they’re a lot easier to tell apart? so if you want to use the ones that fit the gimmick better, they’re also in the drive 👍

this update. was originally going to have way more custom art. i’ve actually got an act 6 siffrin enemy asset in my art program! but school started and i decided it’d be better to just get the normal stuff done. so the mod can actually come out in a reasonable timeframe. promise that’ll all come out Later! sorry about the wait 😓😓😓

also adding this because i almost forgot: no i don’t know if these are compatible with sasasaap. i don’t have the game still and it’s not my main priority atm, apologies!

okay! that was a lot! and there’s a ton of art down here! thank you for reading all this, i’ll be back with the game over animations and teleport map pretty soon! like. within the weekend. enjoy!!!

[glowettee]

✧˖° studying without suffering: how to actually enjoy learning (yes, it’s possible)

✧˖° let’s talk.

hey angels, it's mindy!

most people treat studying like a punishment. something to be endured, not enjoyed. it’s that thing you force yourself to do, like taking bitter medicine or running a mile in gym class. but what if that’s the reason you struggle with it?

the secret? you were never meant to hate learning.

somewhere along the way, school made it boring. maybe you had teachers who sucked the fun out of it. maybe you associate studying with stress, deadlines, and exhaustion. but learning is supposed to be exciting. when you actually enjoy it, everything changes. you focus longer, retain more, and (ironically) spend less time studying because your brain actually absorbs the information.

so, let’s fix it. let’s make studying something you want to do instead of something you suffer through.

✧˖° ➼ step 1: detach learning from school

(school & learning are not the same thing. stop letting school ruin your curiosity.)

the first mindset shift? realize that school does not own learning.

➼ school is about structure, deadlines, and tests. it’s designed to measure performance. ➼ learning is about curiosity, deep thinking, and exploration. it’s designed to expand your mind. and help you grow as a person.

if you’ve only ever studied because you had to, your brain associates it with pressure. break that pattern. find something outside of school that you actually like learning about. philosophy, psychology, art history, neuroscience, fashion design, whatever makes you curious.

even if it’s unrelated to your classes, it rewires your brain to see learning as an intrinsic activity, not just an obligation. once you enjoy learning in general, you can transfer that energy back into your studies.

✧˖° ➼ step 2: romanticize the process (but actually make it feel good)

("romanticizing studying" doesn’t mean just buying cute stationery. let’s go deeper.)

sensory association is everything. your brain links experiences to the way they feel physically. so if studying feels uncomfortable, you’ll avoid it. the solution? make it a luxurious experience for your senses.

✧ visuals → clean, minimalist desk, soft lighting, aesthetic study materials ✧ sound → rain sounds, classical piano, lo-fi beats (music that enhances focus) ✧ touch → cozy blankets, warm tea, smooth pens gliding over paper ✧ scent → vanilla candles, fresh coffee, the pages of an old book

this isn’t just about aesthetics. it’s neuroscience. when studying feels pleasurable, your brain stops resisting it.

✧˖° ➼ step 3: use high-dopamine study techniques

(forcing yourself to study the “normal” way is why you hate it.)

some study methods are literally designed to be boring. ditch them.

instead, try:

➼ blurting method: instead of passively reading, close your book and write down everything you remember. then check what you missed. (way more engaging than just re-reading notes.) ➼ dual-coding: mix visuals with text. draw tiny sketches next to your notes. turn concepts into mind maps. watch a video explaining a topic right after reading about it. ➼ pomodoro stacking: instead of the typical 25-minute study sprints, customize it. (ex: 50 min deep focus + 10 min break with an actual reward.) ➼ interleaving technique: mix subjects instead of block studying. it forces your brain to stay engaged.

stop making studying harder than it needs to be. find what works for you, and your brain will stop fighting it.

✧˖° ➼ step 4: make studying social (but in a smart way)

(because you’re not supposed to do this alone.)

studying alone for hours? miserable. but studying with others who are just as serious as you? instant motivation boost.

but instead of chaotic group study sessions where no one gets anything done, try:

✧ parallel studying: hop on facetime or join a study livestream. silent, focused, but together. ✧ teaching method: explain concepts to a friend. if you can teach it, you truly understand it. ✧ study accountability: check in with someone daily. send each other your study goals, no excuses.

even just knowing someone else is studying at the same time can trick your brain into feeling more engaged.

✧˖° ➼ step 5: shift your identity

("i hate studying" isn’t a personality trait. it’s a mindset problem.)

if you keep saying “i hate studying,” your brain will never enjoy it. change the narrative.

➼ instead of “i suck at studying,” try → “i’m learning how to study in a way that works for me.” ➼ instead of “i can’t focus,” try → “i’m training my brain to focus longer every day.” ➼ instead of “i don’t feel like it,” try → “i’m someone who gets things done, whether i feel like it or not.”

become the type of person who enjoys learning. once that becomes your identity, everything else follows.

✧˖° ➼ step 6: create emotional attachment to your goals

motivation dies when your goals feel distant and impersonal. if you’re studying just because you “have to,” it’s easy to procrastinate. but if you link it to something deeply personal, it becomes non-negotiable.

try this: visualize your future self. imagine the version of you who already achieved everything you want. who is she? what does she do? how does she study?

then, make it emotional. ✧ if you dream of getting into your dream school, print pictures of it. make a vision board. ✧ if you want financial freedom, imagine the luxury of never stressing over money. ✧ if you want to be respected in your field, remind yourself that your knowledge is your power.

when you make studying personal, it stops being a chore. it becomes a commitment.

✧˖° ➼ step 7: stop making everything harder than it needs to be

(struggling doesn’t mean you’re working harder. it just means you’re struggling.)

too many people study inefficiently because they think suffering = productivity. but studying smarter is always better than studying longer.

some ways to make it easier on yourself: ➼ use study apps → quizlet, pomdoro apps for focus, notion for organization ➼ summarize like you’re texting a friend → rewrite notes in your own words, no unnecessary fluff ➼ study in “levels” → don’t jump straight into deep studying. warm up with light review, then increase intensity ➼ take advantage of spaced repetition → stop cramming, your brain retains more when you review over time

efficiency = less stress, better results. don’t work harder than necessary.

✧˖° ➼ step 8: replace toxic productivity with high-performance habits

studying 10 hours in one night ≠ academic excellence. true high-achievers prioritize sustainability.

➼ quit glorifying exhaustion. taking breaks improves focus. it’s not laziness. ➼ learn when to walk away. if you’re zoning out, step away. 10 minutes of real focus > 2 hours of fake studying. ➼ protect your sleep. all-nighters don’t make you hardcore, they make you ineffective. your brain processes info while you sleep.

the goal isn’t to study the longest. it’s to study in a way that keeps your mind sharp and focused.

✧˖° ➼ step 9: master the “dopamine pull” method

instead of forcing motivation, use dopamine to your advantage.

➼ habit stacking → pair studying with something enjoyable (ex: study while drinking your favorite matcha) ➼ mini rewards → after finishing a chapter, reward yourself with something small but satisfying ➼ gamification → track progress like a video game. every completed task = a “level up”

your brain loves dopamine. give it reasons to associate studying with good feelings.

✧˖° ➼ step 10: let go of perfectionism (but keep high standards)

perfectionism leads to procrastination and burnout. instead of striving for flawless, aim for consistent excellence.

✧ done is better than perfect. stop rewriting notes 5 times. ✧ progress is the goal. each study session should move you forward, even if it’s small. ✧ your worth is not your grades. strive for success, but don’t let school define you.

when you release perfectionism, you actually start achieving more. keep your standards high, but don’t let them paralyze you.

✧˖° mindy’s personal tips

(things that helped me romanticize studying & actually make it enjoyable:)

➼ set a 5-minute timer. just start. most of the time, your brain stops resisting once you begin. ➼ don’t let study guilt ruin your breaks. rest is productive. ➼ have a “study fit.” i swear, dressing up just a little makes a difference. ➼ invest in one high-quality pen. something that glides effortlessly. small detail, huge difference. ➼ study in cafés, libraries, parks. switch locations to keep it interesting. ➼ make it ✧ cozy ✧. fuzzy socks, oversized sweaters, soft blankets. your comfort matters.

✧˖° homework: rewire your study experience

➼ for one of your study sessions this week, try at least two of the techniques above. ➼ write a short journal entry: how do you want to feel while studying? how can you make that happen? ➼ change just one thing about your study setup that makes it more enjoyable.

then come back & tell me. did studying feel better? (you can always message me or send me an ask in my inbox)

[deusfoundry]

in retrospect, there's really no other way this night could've possibly ended.

zayne likes to think that he tried. that he had exercised as much restraint as he could. that the only reason he's got his lips on your skin, planting wet kisses that trails along the path of your collarbone, is because truly, he's been pushed to the brink of his self control.

but is he really to blame when you looked absolutely divine in that dress?

"z-zayne, we have to go ..."

your words fail to register in his mind, anything and everything but the tiny sounds you make enters one ear and slides right out the other. he almost feels bad now, the memory of how ecstatic you were when he'd invited you as his plus one to a banquet hosted by akso hospital three weeks ago flashes before him. how that excitement grew tenfold when you told him about the dress you'd bought to surprise him with.

and he certainly was surprised, pleasantly so, when the sight of your bare back greeted him as he entered his bedroom.

zayne stops in his tracks, feet feeling like they've been permanently rooted to the carpeted floor of his bedroom.

you're seated in front of the vanity table he'd put together for you. the size of it is nothing like the one you have at your apartment, but it shares a similar design, the same wooden accents. it's enough that you can get ready for anything without having to make a stop at your place. he'd bought it when you first began to spend the night at his apartment.

lately though, you've been spending the better part of each week in his place. zayne's been reminding himself to build up the courage to ask you to move in with him.

he's supposed to be used to this. to your back facing him. to your eyes lighting up when you catch sight of his figure through the reflection of your vanity mirror. to you pausing in the middle of your routine to turn around, greet him with that smile of yours that sends an ache in his heart.

but this damned dress.

he forces his feet off the floor to move towards you, his heavy footsteps catching your attention. you flash him a sheepish smile, your eyes flitting towards the jacket of his dress suit draped on his arm.

"have i been taking too long?" you ask, hurriedly dragging the tip of your eyeliner to your lids.

"no," zayne stalks close enough to place his hands on the back of your chair. he drinks you in, eyes casting downwards to the fabric pooling at your lower back. your hair is pulled up to a loose bun, fastened with a clip shaped into a snowflake, leaving your bare shoulders to view. he takes the thin strap of your dress betwixt thumb and forefinger, fighting the immense urge to pull the flimsy fabric off.

it's a losing battle, and zayne succumbs to his desires in a matter of seconds. he leans down, planting one tender kiss on the base of your neck.

he holds your gaze through the mirror as he releases his hold on the strap, letting it fall just above your elbow. he uses the same fingers to map out the scars littered on your back.

"no, you're alright."

"i'm-" your words get caught in a choke. "i'm almost done. why don't you wait for me here?"

"of course." zayne kisses your cheek before taking a seat on the edge of his bed. his eyes bore into you with an intensity that you can feel, enough to induce a tremble in your hands as you add the finishing touches to your make up.

"done!" you begin tidying up your table, placing the brushes back to their compartments. "just need to put my heels on."

"allow me." zayne very nearly bolts from the bed. he takes your heels by the straps from their place beside your vanity.

slowly, zayne kneels before you.

it's then that zayne notices another ... feature of your dress, discovering a slit that goes right up to your thigh. he freezes, hands ghosting your ankle, a field of smooth skin staring at him. possibly taunting him. definitely not helping his pants that seem to be growing tighter by the minute.

"love? are you okay?"

and you had the nerve to ask. surely, you must be aware of your effect on him by now?

"yes." he breathes out an apology, sucking the air through his nose as he slides your feet into the shoe. his fingers find the straps, wrapping them around and working up your leg the way he's watched you do so countless times before. he moves closer, reaching behind your leg to tie the straps together into what he hopes is a neat bow over your calf.

zayne repeats the process with your other shoe, but this time, he lets himself linger. lets his fingers run past your leg, over your knee, until they land on your thigh. lets them prod lightly at the flesh, encasing the muscle with his palm. lets himself lean down, low enough that from your point of view, it looks he's bowing to you.

he places a kiss, first over the strap of your heels that he's just worked on, the material an odd intrusion to his moisturized lips. then another, on your knee. and finally, his lips replace the palm on your thigh.

you shiver at the sudden loss of warmth, but you find soon enough that zayne never intended on keeping his hands away from you for long.

his hand glides further up, slipping beneath the fabric of your dress where it finds itself a home there.

zayne is too caught up in you, plush skin, enchanting perfume, this godforsaken dress, to hear your voice. he's only knocked out of his trance when he feels your hand cup his cheek.

"zayne?" he looks up, chin resting on your thigh. there's a flush to your cheeks, an obvious difficulty in the way you breathe. "we're going to be late."

he nods, pushing himself off the floor. he holds his hand out for you take and gladly, you slip your hand into his with a smile, using him as leverage to stand up.

zayne makes it about halfway through the living room before something in him snaps. he strides across his apartment, footsteps quick and erratic, almost tripping over his own feet.

you hear him from where you stood before his front door, turning around with the knob between your hand to ask him if he's okay. you get barely a word out of your mouth when zayne crashes his lips onto yours.

and that's how you find yourself now, pinned against the door of his apartment, clinging to his shoulders as your legs begin to go limp.

zayne kisses you everywhere, frenzied lips travelling from your neck, the exposed skin of your cleavage. he gives you not even a second to breathe before he's back on your lips. his hands behave similarly, squeezing at every inch of skin his fingers come across.

"i'm sorry." he sends a stream of warm air to your neck, nipping lightly at the skin. "it's just- you look so- god, it's this dress."

"the event-!" zayne cuts you off by sucking at your neck hard enough that it's bound to leave a mark.

"to hell with it."

you yelp when he cradles the back of your thighs to lift you up with ease. instinctively, you wrap your legs around his lower back, bringing him close enough that you can feel the bulge poking through his pants.

"the things you do to me..." zayne whispers over your lips. he eases your entire body into just one of hands, the other moving up to your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "god, you have no idea."

except, you think you know exactly what you do to him, when he starts making his way back to the bedroom, lips eternally attached to yours.

[tonycries]

Dream A Little Dream - G.S.

Synopsis. For the strongest, it was a privilege to dream. Especially when his dream is you. 

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. fem! reader, established relationship, implied sex, fluff, soft and sleepy Satoru, very slight manga spoilers, just Satoru loving on you and your future together.

Word count. 0.8k

A/N. Probably gonna delete. Art by @_3aem on X.

It’s times like this - when the quiet morning sun is just peeking in through your window, in the still haze of your naked body peacefully intertwined with his that Satoru allows himself to dream.

He dreams of everything - from the strawberry lollipops he snuck into the Gojo Estate as a kid to the time when he forgot Megumi at the mall. 

But mostly, he dreams of you.

Eyes still veiled with sleep, wandering the expanse of your face, a hand tenderly running along the features he’s mapped a thousand times over. Thumb softly catching on the corner of your mouth, slightly quirked up, he wonders what you’re dreaming of. 

Do you dream of him too?

Because Satoru’s favorite dream will always be the one with you. 

Your laughter in the morning light as he smothers you in kisses, how it rings in his ears and carries through his day. If there’s one thing Satoru knows, it’s that he would burn this entire godforsaken world down to keep it there. Even in the face of violence, his favorite song.

Reaching out to softly kiss your fingers, the hands which hold his heart and his future. 

Unhurriedly, he caresses that empty spot on your ring finger. Soon. 

Little black box burning a hole into that hidden corner of his dresser, Satoru absentmindedly wonders whether you would go for a flowing gown or more of a sleek design? He dreams of the delicate lace under his fingers, the gentle sway of the fabric and the blue bouquet to match his eyes. 

A huff of laughter, followed by a melancholic twinge of his heart, finds its way into the still morning air as he imagines the way Nanamin would have been crying very reluctant tears of joy.

Long fingers deftly run along the expanse of your body, drawing patterns on the marks he’s left to remember him by, resting on your stomach. He dreams of a world where he is there to see you run around with a few white-haired bundles of joy. All of them with your personality of course - he couldn’t handle having to fight with some mini versions of himself over you.

And they may be closed for now, but he dreams of the twinkle in your eyes as they meet his, the promise of a beautiful day ahead. 

He can only pray that they always look at him that way. Even when the shine of your eyes dim with age, the chapters of your story showing on your face. The dream where you two complain about your first gray hairs - him cackling about you finally joining the club. 

It might not seem like it, but in the blood and merciless gore of jujutsu, a part of the strongest always thinks back to the heaven he’s found in you. 

The heaven where you both cry over your kids leaving the nest, and later he’d fervently deny his teary eyes - secretly wiping the tears off his glasses. 

Where you spend quiet evenings on the porch, wrapped in blankets and reminiscing about the adventures of your youth. Did he ever tell you that story where he lost the tickets to a movie and had to sneak into the theater with Shoko and Suguru? Boy, did he get an earful from Yaga that day.

The dream where he’s surrounded by you and all your warmth. In the cold pain that comes with being the strongest, he can only hope that a day will come where his strength - rather than being used to kill - holds your future with ready arms. 

Ripping his eyes off of your face, they wander the room bathed in the soft morning glow. Mapping the empty spaces which you two would fill with pictures. The walls which would echo with laughter and whisper tales of serenity.

First days at school, graduations, all the friends and foes lost along the years - and one big picture of you in that beautiful white dress, right in the middle. All beauty and grace. His beautiful bride. A dream where his last name is a melody not a death sentence.

He dreams he’s there to fetch your walking cane to stroll through your little garden with a cup of his famous morning tea. He’d hold your hand as he always does, both trembling and frail with age. He dreams he would kiss the beautiful wrinkles on the corners of your eyes, only for you to push him away bashfully complaining about the grandkids seeing.

Blue eyes faded and the joy of the years showing on his face, not as strong or as vibrant as he once was, limitless nothing more but a trick to make his grandkids smile. Not a weapon, but just your Satoru. He hopes you’ll still be there to love him.

And he dreams he’s there.

He wants to be there. 

“Satoru?”

Satoru’s heart lurches as those beautiful eyes crack open, still foggy with sleep. A glimpse of that smile he found heaven in, and you pull him closer. Understanding. Skin heated against his, no one but you two in this quiet world.

All is well in your little heaven.

Today, the strongest will face Ryomen Sukuna, the fate of the world burdened upon his shoulders. But for now, Satoru is held fragilely in your arms.

For now, he is yours. 

He only dreams he can be forevermore. 

A/N. Tony writing something that isn’t smut??? The world is coming to an end.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[matcha3mochi]

GLASS BETWEEN US Pairing: Merman Rafayel x Scientist Reader

author note: ive been into love and deepspace recently, so here ya go hehe

wc: 4,870

chapter 1 | chapter 2 l chapter 3 | chapter 4 || chapter 5

───⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

You took the job because you needed a way out.

It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t even particularly well-paid. But the offer came with minimal paperwork, restricted clearance, and one very clear instruction: ask no questions.

So you accepted.

The facility—remote, underground, heavily secured—was the kind of place not listed on maps. It didn’t exist according to the public record, and yet it buzzed with life: researchers, guards, engineers, medics. They all moved with the quiet, tense urgency of people doing work that couldn’t be acknowledged outside these walls.

Your first day was a blur of orientation. Non-disclosure clauses, retinal scans, and procedural briefings stacked with redacted pages. You caught glimpses of terms like “specimen,” “cognitive divergence,” “aquatic containment.”

No one told you what exactly was inside Lab C. Just that you’d be assisting with long-term observation. You assumed it would be another mutated marine species pulled up from some trench, something grotesque and territorial. Maybe even dangerous.

But the truth was stranger.

When they finally led you through the corridors and into the observation chamber, you expected cold steel and sharp smells.

Instead, the room was quiet. Dim. The tank was massive—more an aquarium than a cell—bathed in low light that shimmered across the walls like waves. The water inside was dark, cold, impossibly deep. You stepped forward, clutching your tablet, already preparing to log oxygen levels and salinity.

That was when you saw him.

Not a specimen.

Not a subject.

Something else.

Your breath caught before you even registered why.

And just like that, the job you took to escape your life became the one thing you couldn’t walk away from.

You didn’t know it then, but that first glance would mark the start of something irreversible. Something that would pull you under, inch by inch, breath by breath.

The moment you saw him, your surroundings blurred into static. The beeping monitors, murmuring technicians, even the weight of your data tablet—all of it fell away.

Inside the isolation tank, a living impossibility drifted in manufactured saltwater. Designed to emulate the hadal zone, the deepest part of the ocean, the containment system glowed softly under rows of harsh overhead lighting. The glass was nearly ten inches thick.

He floated at the bottom, not quite asleep but clearly subdued. His body was serpentine, a long and powerful tail coiled beneath him like an anchor. Its surface shimmered with deep cobalt and streaks of pearlescent silver, every movement creating subtle waves of reflected light. Even now, in apparent stillness, he seemed to shift with the current, his tail flicking faintly like a ribbon suspended in water.

The upper half of his body resembled a human form—broad shoulders, strong arms—but with a sleekness and symmetry that felt engineered rather than natural. It was hard not to stare. Harder still to assign him the term specimen, as though he were just another data point.

His face was unnerving in its beauty. Too elegant. Too calm. Dark purple hair floated around his head, surrounding him like a halo. Thin, branching scars ran near the gills along his neck—signs of struggle? Or surgery? You couldn’t tell. Around his wrists were red rings where restraints had dug in, proof that something here had gone very wrong before it got quiet.

You took one step closer to the glass.

His eyes opened.

Bright blue, slit-pupiled, and utterly alien, they fixed on yours with uncanny stillness. Not vague awareness—recognition. As if you were something known. Something expected.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until Dr. Havers spoke behind you.

“Sedated but semi-lucid,” he muttered. “You’ll get used to it.”

You doubted that.

You didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

Your formal role changed within forty-eight hours. A sudden shift, approved without ceremony. You were now responsible for the nocturnal observation cycle—Lab C, 2300 to 0400. Solo rotation. Minimal contact. Maximum discretion.

It wasn’t framed as special. If anything, it felt procedural. But there was an unspoken reason behind it. He responded to you—consistently, uniquely, and visibly. While other personnel were met with either silence or aggression, your presence generated stability. Lowered agitation. Reduced biomarker volatility.

“You’re not a risk variable,” Havers said, handing you a new clearance badge. “He recognizes that. Use it.”

That first night on shift, you sat alone behind the curved monitor console, tank lights dimmed to deep ocean blue. The lab echoed with the soft churn of water filters and the occasional mechanical click of the oxygen injectors. You opened a new file. Began a log.

SESSION 01 2303 HRS — Subject floats near lower quadrant. Motion minimal. Eyes open, tracking. 2317 HRS — Approaches glass at station-facing side. Remains within one meter. 0010 HRS — Mimics observer posture. Arms crossed. Head tilted. Intentional or coincidental?

The entries became more granular with each passing hour. You logged pupil dilation, fin twitching, shoulder alignment. The angle of his fingers against the glass. The way he followed the rhythm of your breathing when you leaned forward. Occasionally, he'd trace your silhouette on the other side of the glass, following your hand movements with uncanny precision.

He blinked less often when watching you, and more when others entered the lab—a strange, deliberate contrast. He began to tap his claws rhythmically against the tank wall when you wrote, a pattern that shifted in tempo depending on your pace. When you stood up, he rose. When you sat, he settled. A mirror, distorted by water and light, but growing clearer by the day.

By your third shift, the notes had started to blur.

SESSION 03 2248 HRS — Subject at station wall prior to entry. Appears to anticipate schedule. 2350 HRS — Subject mirrors tablet tapping. When observer writes, subject responds with claw motions against tank interior. 0104 HRS — Sustained eye contact. Three full minutes. Observer initiated break. Subject remained locked in gaze.

You began categorizing his behaviors under new terms. Not hostile. Not adaptive. Instead: intentional. Self-directed. Curious.

And eventually: fixated.

There was a pattern now, undeniable and precise. Every time you entered the room, he was already waiting. Every time you left, he followed your departure with slow, measured turns around the glass, as though mapping your absence.

Your notes became less technical. More observational. And then, more personal.

You started writing things you didn’t submit to the shared logs. Quiet questions scrawled in the margins of your private notebook.

Why only me? How much does he understand? Is this intelligence, or attention? Or is it something else?

You didn’t know the answers. Not yet.

But you couldn’t stop asking.

You hadn’t planned to speak to him. You weren’t even sure he could comprehend language.

But on the sixth night, everything was too quiet. The hum of the facility, the subdued flicker of the monitors—it all pressed in like static. You were tired. Frustrated. Your head rested on your folded arms, your mind drifting.

“I hate this place,” you muttered.

The water stirred.

Your eyes shot up. He was near the glass. Closer than before. His hands hovered just beneath the surface, claws relaxed. He tilted his head, as if listening.

Then he repeated it.

“I… hate… this… place.”

His voice was strange—raspy, resonant, shaped by a throat unused to speech. But he’d matched your cadence. Your tone. Even the way you’d slurred the words.

You stood.

“You understood that?”

He moved his mouth again. Slower. Testing the rhythm of speech.

“You… are… different.”

The room felt suddenly warmer. Or maybe colder.

Maybe both.

From that night on, your interactions became more complex.

Every time you entered, he was already waiting. You’d sit. He’d drift toward the glass, his body weaving gently behind him, as if pulled by invisible threads.

He began to mimic you in increasingly specific ways. When you tapped on your tablet, he tapped the tank wall. When you shifted in your seat, he mirrored the motion, down to the tilt of your head.

Researchers noticed. They logged it as proof of successful imprinting.

But you knew the difference between mimicry and obsession.

There was an intensity in his gaze that couldn't be dismissed. It was full of purpose. Of attention. He was learning you—not just your behaviors, but your moods. Your microexpressions. He watched your fingers when they trembled. He watched your lips when you breathed.

You tried to maintain boundaries.

But then the dreams started.

The dreams began as fragments.

At first, they were flashes—flashes of cold, of water creeping into your lungs, of sound that wasn’t quite voice but still carried meaning. Pressure without pain. Depth without fear.

Then they became immersive.

You were no longer watching from behind glass. You were inside the tank—or somewhere like it. A vast ocean with no surface and no floor. Everything shimmered in gradients of blue and black, lit by pulses of distant light. You were floating, suspended, and something was circling you.

You felt it before you saw him.

His presence. Electric. Intentional. Like gravity made flesh.

In the dream, Rafayel didn’t speak with words. He moved closer with the slowness of a creature that knew time was irrelevant. His fingers brushed your shoulder, your wrist, your waist—not with heat but with a chill so profound it burned.

You were never afraid.

Sometimes he held you. Other times, he watched you from below, his eyes glowing brighter than the deep. Always silent. Always there.

And always, just before waking, he would place his hand against your chest and say:

You belong here.

You’d wake gasping. Covered in sweat. The room dry, your lungs aching with the ghost of imagined water. And you’d feel it: a residual pulse. As if part of you hadn’t returned.

It was nearly 3:00 a.m. when the emergency alarms shattered the stillness.

You were off-shift. Sleeping. Or trying to. The facility-issued cot in your quarters was thin, the recycled air too dry. But exhaustion didn’t matter—because when the klaxon blared and the lights above your bed pulsed red, your heart dropped into your stomach.

Containment breach — Lab C.

You didn’t stop to think. You didn’t change. You threw on your coat over your sleep shirt and sprinted barefoot through the corridors, barely registering the startled faces of guards and technicians scrambling toward lockdown protocols.

When you reached the lab, the glass was already webbed with cracks.

Inside, the tank churned like a storm-tossed sea. Rafayel was in full fury—no longer the silent, observant being from your shifts. He was something else now. Magnificent and terrifying. His tail whipped with bone-cracking force, slamming the reinforced walls, again and again. The steel supports groaned. Water frothed with foam and light. Machinery sparked along the edges. A lab tech screamed as a panel exploded.

Two guards aimed stun-rods at the tank. “We have to subdue him—!”

“No—!” You pushed past them, breathless. “Let me try first!”

They hesitated—just long enough.

You stepped into the observation chamber, doors sealing behind you. A protective barrier of glass separated you from the tank, but it felt far too thin. Rafayel turned—spun mid-air like a coil of silk and muscle—and slammed his claws into the tank wall right in front of you.

You didn’t flinch.

You raised your hand. Slowly. Palms open.

“Rafayel,” you said softly, almost whispering, “Stop.”

His body stilled, suspended in violent motion.

The roar of the alarms, the hum of the oxygen pumps, even the buzz of the failed lighting—all of it faded into the background.

His breath came in sharp, rapid bursts. His eyes glowed like deep-sea lanterns. He hovered there, inches from the glass, claws still pressed hard enough to screech against it. But he wasn’t attacking now. He was… watching.

You stepped closer, until you were nearly touching the tank wall. Your hand hovered where his claws had struck just moments before.

“It’s me,” you said.

He blinked.

Then, without a sound, he floated backward. A slow, deliberate motion. One hand slid down the tank’s interior, leaving a trail of pale bioluminescence behind it. His tail coiled gently beneath him. The water settled. Foam dissipated. The light in his eyes dimmed—not dulled, just… quieter.

And then, unbelievably, he pressed his forehead to the glass.

Directly across from yours.

The room held its breath.

He closed his eyes.

You mirrored him.

The silence stretched.

Behind you, through the speaker system, you barely caught Dr. Havers’ voice: “Subject de-escalated. Immediate threat withdrawn.”

The guards didn’t speak. They didn’t move. No one did.

Because they saw what you saw.

He hadn’t calmed because of sedatives. Or fear.

He had calmed because of you.

And something in your chest cracked—splintered under the weight of a realization you weren’t ready for.

Whatever Rafayel was…

He wasn’t just watching you.

He needed you.

After the incident, you were called in for multiple evaluations. The staff expressed concern. His reactions were too focused. Too specific.

“Forming a fixation,” they said. “You’re a variable he’s centering around. It might become dangerous.”

But you didn’t feel afraid.

Each night, he was waiting. Sometimes he pressed his hand to the glass, palm to palm. Sometimes he mirrored your face until it felt like looking into a distorted reflection.

You broke protocol.

“Why me?” you asked him softly.

He moved close.

“You… are mine.”

Your heart thudded. You stood frozen.

“You don’t know me.”

He smiled, faint but assured.

“I remember you.”

You shook your head.

“That’s impossible.”

He only repeated, quietly: “You were always coming here.”

You stopped sleeping.

Each night, your dreams blended into your shifts. You began bringing small things into the lab. A book. A ring. A scarf. He noticed all of them. Watched each object with careful interest.

One night, you left a pen on the console.

When you returned the next night, it was inside the tank—placed delicately in a shrine of coral, shells, and scavenged materials. A gift.

You didn’t say anything.

But your chest ached with something unnamed.

And he knew.

The lab was quiet when you arrived, as it always was during your late shifts. But tonight, something felt heavier in the air. As you keyed into the monitoring station, you sensed him waiting.

He was already pressed to the glass, body still, eyes glowing faintly in the dim blue light. His gaze locked on you the instant you stepped into the room. You hadn’t even set your tablet down before he moved—slowly, fluidly—closer, so close that his breath fogged the glass.

Your heart pounded.

You didn’t need to say anything. He already knew you were listening.

“Free me,” he said.

The words were clear. Measured. Spoken not as a plea, but as a promise.

You stared at him, your throat tightening. “I can’t.”

He didn’t move away. He simply watched you, eyes scanning your face like he could read what you didn’t say.

“You don’t belong here either,” he murmured, voice soft and steady. “Not with them.”

He pressed a hand to the glass, and instinctively, without thinking, you lifted yours. His fingers aligned with yours, claws brushing the barrier.

“They see a cage,” he whispered. “You see me.”

The words didn’t sound rehearsed. They sounded like something he’d been waiting to say for a long time.

You swallowed hard. “If I open that tank, they’ll—”

He tilted his head, interrupting gently. “They fear what they cannot hold.”

You felt the heat of your own breath fog the glass. Your hand stayed pressed to his.

“Take it away,” Rafayel whispered. “Let me show you what you already know.”

The glass vibrated faintly under your palm. Not from his strength. From something else. Something deeper. A resonance that pulsed in your bones.

Outside the tank, you were still an employee, a researcher, a name on a schedule.

Inside the tank, he was waiting.

And in that moment, the glass no longer felt like protection.

It felt like a wall you weren’t sure you wanted to keep.

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Go to bed, Sweetie

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluffff, just cutesy reader lol.

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You refuse to go to bed

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was well past midnight in your coastal estate. The scent of saltwater still hung in the air from when Rafayel had dragged you out earlier just to see the tide shimmer against the moonlight.

Now, the air inside was warm. Quiet. Cozy. And yet,

You were not in bed.

You were curled up on the kitchen counter like a cat, legs swinging slightly, sipping from a cup of cold tea, while Rafayel, your absurdly beautiful, half-dressed Lemurian husband, stood barefoot in linen pants and a seafoam-stained button-up that was half open, arms crossed and hair still damp from the sea.

“Why,” he began, “is my wife not asleep, like she very dramatically said she would be an hour ago?”

You sipped your tea. “I changed my mind.”

Rafayel blinked once. Then leaned against the counter with the poutiest sigh known to man.

“That’s the fifth time this week,” he muttered. “You beg me to carry you to bed, kiss your forehead, hum a lullaby I never learned, and then, poof, pearlie decides she’s a nocturnal sea sprite instead.”

You grinned. “Maybe I am a sea sprite.”

“You wish. Sea sprites don’t giggle when I bite their thighs.”

You squeaked, nearly spilling your tea as his hands slid around your waist to tug you down from the counter. You landed against his chest with a soft oof, arms looped around his neck.

“Put me back,” you mumbled, voice melting. “I was comfy.”

“You’ll be comfier in bed,” Rafayel said, already nuzzling into your neck, brushing his cool lips along your skin like he was mapping you out. “Soft sheets. Puffy pillows. One husband. Possibly naked.”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to paint,” you teased, fingers slipping through his damp hair.

“I did,” he murmured, now trailing kisses along your collarbone, “but then I saw you dragging your blanket around the hall like a sleepy little ghost, and I realized…” He pulled back just enough to give you that glimmering smile, head tilted. “You’re prettier than anything I could paint tonight.”

“…You’re so annoying.”

“And you are very small and difficult,” he said cheerfully. “My pretty little pearl who keeps trying to stay up past her bedtime like I won’t come carry her.”

You tried to wriggle away.

It did not work.

He picked you up bridal-style with zero effort, silk robe and all, and began his barefoot march down the hallway with you squealing in protest.

“Raffy—!”

“Yes, my moonbeam?”

“I’m not tired anymore!”

“Then pretend,” he hummed. “You’re good at pretending. You pretended not to like me for an entire month. Remember that? You told me I was ‘too shiny.’”

“You are too shiny!”

He gasped. “Betrayal! My own wife, calling me tacky—”

You dissolved into laughter, face tucked into his shoulder, legs kicking weakly as he finally dropped you into bed and climbed in after you, dragging the covers over your body like a sleepy, clingy sea dragon hoarding treasure.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, arms caging you in. “No more floating around like a baby jellyfish. I’ll tie a seashell to your ankle if I have to.”

“Good,” you murmured, snuggling into his chest. “Make it pink.”

“Anything for you,” he sighed, wrapping you tighter. “Even if you’re a spoiled little brat who only sleeps after dramatic declarations.”

“…Love you too,” you mumbled.

“Obviously.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The Linkon skyline was nothing but a soft blue smear through the tall windows of the master bedroom. Your shared room with Zayne was pristine as always, neat, sterile, elegant, except for one very key element:

You.

You, curled in the middle of the bed in a nest of pillows, still dressed in the delicate designer loungewear Zayne had picked out for you. You, with your arms crossed and a pout on your lips, ignoring the clock that had long since passed midnight. And you, very much refusing to go to bed even as you blinked slower and slower.

Zayne, as always, was methodical in his approach. He stood beside the bed still wearing his long black coat, medical bag set neatly on the armchair, eyes sharp behind silver wire-framed glasses as he slowly removed his gloves.

“You haven’t moved in thirty minutes,” he observed flatly, tone cool but not unkind. “And you’ve been yawning for at least twenty.”

“That’s coincidence,” you mumble, kicking your legs under the sheets. “I was relaxing. Not sleeping.”

He exhales once. Long. Controlled. Then begins unbuttoning his coat.

“You’re very insistent on proving your wakefulness. Should I get the hospital EEG?”

You gasp. “You wouldn’t dare—”

“Do you want the portable unit or the full diagnostic one?” he asks, straight-faced.

“You’re mean to me,” you sulk, flopping back dramatically.

“And you’re 93% eyelid,” he remarks, finally slipping off his jacket and setting it aside.

“I don’t need sleep,” you huff. “I want kisses.”

He raises a brow. “Those are not mutually exclusive.”

You narrow your eyes. “I want kisses now.”

Zayne sighs again. But when he approaches the bed and reaches out, it’s with practiced gentleness, like folding linen, like closing a chart. He brushes your cheek, then leans in and kisses your pout slowly, thoroughly, until your fingers curl in the hem of his shirt.

“Demanding,” he murmurs, his hazel-green eyes fixed on you. “Spoiled. Completely helpless without me.”

“You like it,” you say softly, trying not to smile.

“I do.” He cups your face. “Which is the problem.”

He begins to unfasten the tiny buttons on your top, expression as calm and composed as always. “We’re changing into your sleep set. Then you’re getting in bed. And no, you don’t get to negotiate this.”

“I wasn’t negotiating,” you whisper, cheeks warming.

“Good girl,” he says, brushing a kiss against your jaw.

You blink up at him. “…You’ve been practicing.”

He smirks faintly. “Being married to you is practice.”

You pout again, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down with you into the pillows. He lets himself be dragged, his glasses slipping slightly as your legs trap him beneath the blankets.

“You’re sleeping here,” you murmur, yawning into his collar. “With me. Right now.”

“Where else would I go?”

“Back to the hospital.”

Zayne leans closer, forearm curling around your waist.

“They’ll manage,” he murmurs, burying his face into your hair. “Tonight, I’m on housewife duty.”

You smile softly, finally closing your eyes. “…Then kiss me again.”

And he does.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The penthouse was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the purifier and the soft flicker of moonlight across the living room floor. You were seated cross-legged on the sofa, wrapped in your fluffiest bunny-ear robe, clutching a mug of half-finished cocoa.

And Xavier, of course, was sprawled beside you like a lazy feline, half-awake, half-asleep, in his usual oversized ivory sweater and soft pajama pants, one arm looped around your waist like it was second nature.

“It’s late,” he murmurs, voice flat but somehow still warm.

You shake your head, rubbing at your eyes with the back of your sleeve. “Nope. I’m fine. Not even tired. I want to watch one more episode.”

“You said that… three episodes ago.”

“I was lying then. This time it’s real.”

He blinks slowly. “…That was a confession.”

“Oops.”

Xavier shifts, propping his chin on your shoulder. “You’re slurring your words.”

“No I’m not.”

“You said ‘whone more epishode’ just now.”

You gasp in dramatic betrayal. “You’re making that up!”

“You’ve also been holding your cocoa upside down for ten minutes,” he adds, gently tilting the mug before it spills over the blanket. “Very stealthy.”

You groan and collapse sideways into his lap. “Why do you always notice everything?”

“Because you’re my wife,” he replies simply, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a gloved finger. “I’m supposed to.”

He shifts again, this time to lay you down properly on the couch, pulling the soft fleece blanket over your limbs like it’s instinct. He presses a kiss to your temple, slow and gentle.

“I said I’m not tired…” you protest weakly, eyes fluttering shut despite your words.

“You say many things,” Xavier murmurs, laying beside you now, his cheek resting against the top of your head. “You also said you weren’t going to marry me.”

“That was… before you gave me the kitty plushie…” you mumble.

He smiles faintly, fingers drawing lazy circles against your side. “Then I’ll get you another if it helps you go to sleep.”

“I want the white one this time.”

“Okay.”

You’re quiet for a beat, then:

“…You’re gonna fall asleep too, aren’t you?”

“Mhm.”

“But you were supposed to carry me to bed…”

“I still can,” he says. “Even if I fall asleep halfway there.”

You pout. “Xavier.”

“Hmm?”

“…Will you stay if I fall asleep first?”

He kisses your forehead again. “Always.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

It was late, somewhere past 3am. The air outside the safe house has gotten cold, not a single soul wondering. Inside, it was dim and moody, lit only by the occasional flicker of red light from Sylus’ eye as he scrolled through unread data on a holo-tab.

And you were in his lap, dramatically refusing to go to bed.

“I’m not tired,” you sniff, squirming in his lap in your silk baby-pink nightgown, socked feet poking out and kicking lazily at the coffee table. “And I don’t care if it’s late. I want to stay here. With you.”

Sylus sighs through his nose and shuts the tab. His fingers, warm and gloved, hook under your chin.

“You’ve been yawning for the last fifteen minutes, dove,” he says, smug and unbothered. “Your lashes are sticking together. And your voice’s gone all quiet. You’re seconds away from passing out.”

“No I’m not,” you grumble, instantly curling deeper into his chest like a sleepy kitten.

He chuckles low, his voice like dark velvet laced with heat. “Right. You’re a terror of the night, aren’t you?”

You hum softly. “You said I could do what I want.”

“I also said I’d lock you in a vault if I had to,” he replies, dry. “Don’t tempt me.”

Your pout deepens. You drag your hands down your face dramatically. “You’re mean to me. You don’t even care that I wore this just for you.” You tug your robe open a little, showing the lace underlayers of your babydoll set, eyes glinting with mischief. “You said it was cute earlier…”

Sylus stills. The red glow of his eye pulses once, brighter. A slow grin creeps onto his face, predatory and amused.

“I did. And I meant it,” he drawls. “You’re the most dangerously adorable creature I’ve ever let sit in my lap.”

“Then you should pamper me,” you say, head tilting, lashes fluttering. “And let me stay up. Forever. No bedtime. Ever again.”

“Oh? That’s your demand now?” he murmurs, sliding one hand down your back. “You’d rather sit here in my lap pouting than curl up beside me like a good little wife?”

You nod firmly.

“You’d rather make me work to convince you?”

Another nod. Smug.

He leans in, his voice dropping to a slow purr. “I don’t mind. You always fold eventually, little brat.”

“I’m not a brat,” you protest, sleepy slur in your tone.

“No? Then what are you?” he hums.

“…Your baby,” you mutter. “Your spoiled princess.”

Sylus grins wickedly. “Exactly.”

Before you can react, he’s standing, lifting you easily with one arm hooked under your thighs. You squeal and cling to his shirt, pressing your face to his neck.

“You tricked me,” you mumble.

“I always do,” he smirks, carrying you effortlessly toward the bedroom. “And you always fall for it. Like a dumb little bird.”

You pout into his shoulder. “You said I was a princess.”

“You’re both,” he says, laying you down atop dark silk sheets. “My brat. My baby. My queen. All wrapped into one sleepy little mess.”

He leans down, his voice brushing against your lips. “Close your eyes, dove. Or I’ll have to sing for you.”

You blink up at him, suspicious. “That doesn’t sound like a punishment.”

He smirks wider. “You haven’t heard me sing lullabies, sweetheart. I once made a man cry blood.”

You giggle, finally curling up under the blankets.

He tucks you in like he’s sheathing a weapon, gently, precisely, like he’s locking you somewhere safe.

“Goodnight, little thing,” he says softly, brushing your hair back, pressing a kiss to your brow. “Dream of sharp things. Or me.”

“…you are a sharp thing,” you whisper sleepily.

He smiles.

“Exactly.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The stars glittered outside the glass dome of Caleb’s Skyhaven penthouse. The skyline twinkled with distant ships zipping between spaceports, but inside the penthouse, it was just soft golden lights, plush rugs, and the scent of warm lavender tea cooling on the table.

And you, draped over the couch in your frilly robe, lip jutted out, clinging to the edge of the plush cushions like they were going to save you from bedtime.

“I said no, Caleb,” you huff, kicking your little socked feet. “I’m not tired. I’m watching something.”

On the screen, some silly shopping show played muted. You weren’t even paying attention to it.

Caleb raised an eyebrow from across the room, where he was unfastening his black gloves with slow, practiced ease. His Farspace Colonel coat was already hung, and he stood tall in the crisp white uniform shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to show the veins and strength in his forearms. The purple glow of his Evol lingered faintly beneath his skin, a reminder of the storm always coiled beneath his soft voice.

“Baby,” he said, voice low and fond. “You said the same thing an hour ago. And the hour before that.”

“I didn’t,” you mumbled, curling further into the cushions like a bratty little nesting bird.

“You did,” he said, walking over and crouching by the couch. “You always do. Then you fall asleep in my arms halfway to the bedroom.”

You look away dramatically, ignoring how he smells like spice and ozone, like his coat and the sterile coolness of Skyhaven air. “Well maybe tonight I won’t.”

He tilts his head, resting one gloved hand beside your cheek on the cushion. “No?”

“No,” you whisper, eyes shimmering. “I’m not sleepy. And I don’t want to go to bed unless you carry me.” You sniff. “And kiss me. A lot.”

Caleb smiles then, the kind of smile he only ever gives you, soft around the eyes, full of helpless adoration. “Is that all it takes to make my spoiled little housewife obey orders?”

You nod solemnly, like you’re making the greatest sacrifice of your life.

He hums, then slowly lifts you, blanket and all, right into his arms. You squeak, but immediately wrap around him like a sleepy koala, arms around his neck, face buried in his collar.

“Such a dramatic little thing,” he mutters, kissing the side of your head. “You used to fight wanderers with everything you had, you know that? And now you throw a fit if I don’t let you stay up past midnight.”

“I was brave back then,” you mumble. “Now I’m just cute.”

“You’ve always been cute,” he corrects, tightening his grip, voice lowering. “But now you’re mine. My pretty little wife. My sleepy girl. My baby.”

He reaches the bedroom and kicks the door open gently with his boot. The lights dim automatically, casting the bed in warm glow. He lowers you into the silk sheets like you’re made of stardust, brushing hair from your face.

“Caleb,” you whisper as he pulls the covers over you, “can I have a kiss now?”

“You can have all of them,” he murmurs, leaning in.

And you do. Kisses to your forehead, your lips, your nose, his voice melting into soft praises between each one.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “My princess. My only one.”

And with his arms around you, tucked in against his chest, your bratty pout finally gives way to a sleepy little yawn.

“I win,” he teases, watching your eyes flutter shut.

But even as you drift off, you whisper against his chest,

“I let you win…”

He laughs low, and the sound rumbles deep in his chest. “Of course you did, sweetheart. Of course you did.”

[solanastark]

ikea trip

summary: you and bucky go on an ikea trip

tags: bucky x reader, fluffy, domestic as hell

A/N: drabbles are fun to write and this gif— you're welcome :))

an ikea trip with bucky barnes would include:

he insists on parallel parking no matter how many spaces are open

it takes longer than necessary

when he finally pulls it off, he shoots you a proud smirk and a wink like he just won a medal

you struggle with a wonky cart that refuses to roll straight

bucky steps in and manhandles it into submission

he nearly breaks the whole cart with his metal arm (lmfao crying)

"okay, okay that's enough bucky. let's just get a new one."

his military instincts kick in the moment you enter the labyrinth

"we're sticking to the map."

"this place is designed to trap you."

you can't tell if he's joking or genuinely concerned

even with the arrows, you end up in the kids' section twice because he refuses to ask for directions

he has an opinion on every single couch

"too soft. feels like a marshmallow."

"this one's nice, but it's gonna sink after a few years."

drags you to sit with him on every couch

"now this one can handle the both of us."

mischievous glint in his eyes as he pulls you closer

bucky stands in the fake kitchens, looking around like he's picturing a normal life

he says nothing, but you feel it

halfway through, he picks up the most random things

a tiny cactus, a cheese grater shaped like a hedgehog, a jar of orange marmalade

"for what?"

"just in case." he shrugs, deadpan

you take a detour at the food court

he grumbles about "processed food" but proceeds to eat three plates of swedish meatballs

you catch him stealing one off your plate

"you weren't eating it."

"i was about to!"

he smirks, kisses your temple and pretends nothing happened

he loads the flat-packs into the car like he's playing tetris

you end up falling asleep on the way back

when you wake up, his jacket is draped over you and he's quietly humming along to the radio

at home, you try to explain the assembly instructions but bucky's already halfway through putting it together without the manual

"its like a puzzle."

he refuses to let you help because "i got it, sweetheart."

"bucky at least let me arrange to screws and nails."

he takes off his shirt, his muscular body on full display in the living room

"you don't need to do that, ikea furniture is basically legos for adults." you joke

"just wanted to give you the full show, doll."

he accidentally dents one of the table legs with his super soldier strength and you give him a look

"i'll fix it."

when its done, you both sit on the new couch tired and surrounded by boxes

you hand him a mug of coffee

"not bad for a guy from the 40s, huh?"

you smile and lean your head on his shoulder because yeah, not bad at all

[honey-tongued-devil]

↠The last drop tour

| Part 1 | | Part 2 | | Part 3 |

This tour was designed to allow those who write and read fanfiction to finally visualize the Last Drop and have a solid map in hand. Specifically, I created it for a personal need, for my fanfiction Everytime It Rains, which you can read by clicking the title. This is part two, where you can see Silco's office in detail. Welcome back from your favorite guide, and enjoy!

Did you get something to drink? I hope so, because it's really packed in here. So, where did we leave off? We were supposed to enter the office, right? Well, sisters, and bros, and non-binary hoes, welcome!

Let's start from the left; I know it's a bit chaotic, but this is where Sevika used to come to drink even when Silco wasn't around, waiting for him faithfully. All those bottles are hers. The rug is from Piltover, you've probably recognized it, along with the iconic Last Drop glasses. That sturdy piece of furniture you see there, closer to his desk, is his safe. No one has the code except for him, me, and now you (it's 937). Since we're here, I might as well open it.

Face down, there's a photo depicting Vander, Silco, and Felicia on the bridge when they were younger—certainly well before Felicia got pregnant, given the length of Silco's hair. That strange map is a map of the mine tunnels, a relic from his past as a miner. And finally, the LP is "Our Love," ironically Vander's favorite song (as Jinx mentions in Jinx Fixes Everything), as well as Felicia's, Silco's, and Jinx's. It's in the safe because Silco treasures that vinyl so much that he doesn't leave it where it could get destroyed; he keeps it protected.

But let's close it up and move on. Here it is, the iconic desk. Since I'm a generous guide, I'll let you circle around it so you can see it from every angle. On top, there's the map of Piltover with the mug that Jinx made for him, while in the drawer, there's a mask to filter out the gray, the smog of Zaun, and a card that I think was used for blackmail. I can't say for sure, but it seems to be part of the man's shady dealings.

Next to his desk, on the right, there are two doors. They're not accessible, but since I doubt he'd want anyone to have such direct access to his office, in my fanfiction at least, there will be a room behind them with a double bed and some of his belongings.

But let's move on to the last piece! The huge map of Piltover and zaun with which he planned the export of Shimmer and weapons, where he kept track of everything that happened.

If you enjoyed or found this little tour useful, let me know, and feel free to check out my headcanons or my longfic! This tour has come to an end, but I might have material to create more in the future!

[jsooly]

death in the family (4) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, with a lot of time on your hands, you look into the RDA hoping to find spider.

a meatier chapter to make up for the break i took <3

(1) / . . . / (7) / (8*) / (9* - ur here! ☆)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

living at the human base was an adjustment. a week in and you still hadn't completely come to terms with it. for one, you had a lot more time on your hands without not-so-little ones to supervise.

you tried to busy yourself with menial tasks. calibrating balances, watching the old logs, getting upset over the old logs, reading and correcting norm's scientific studies... the base was nothing like hometree, and even the rocky expanses of high camp was homier than the metal box you found yourself in. the incessant buzz of the research equipment made it hard to not be antsy, and the fluorescent lighting above your designated bunk was a poor excuse for the gentle light of the sun.

thankfully you did get a room to yourself with all the basics. a desk, bed, mirror, and bathroom. despite being human, you had little experience with human surroundings and things, and you had no possessions to occupy the furniture they provided you. you found it bitterly funny that you had a physical reminder of everything you lost.

norm knocked on your door. "hey." he pressed his lips together in an awkward smile. "your mother left this for you."

you sat up on your bed, your brows furrowing in confusion. "when?"

"about a day before they left." norm dropped a beaded necklace into your cupped hands. "i'm sorry i didn't remember sooner, i was..."

"busy?" you finished for him, not meeting his eye as you turned the jewelry over in your palms.

"yeah."

that was also a theme you were recognizing. norm had a family of his own—mated with an olangi woman and had two kids. between that and his studies, he was often away from the base.

you held up the necklace, letting it dangle in front of you. it was very... neytiri. the garment was layered 3 times, with a multitude of beads colored blue and brown along the woven string.

"she said it was hers a while back. one she grew out of." norm explained.

"why didn't she give it to me when she was here?"

"i..." norm's head tilted, his eyes flickering up to the ceiling as he searched for an answer. "this held a weight of finality for her. she wants to hear how you like it when you see each other again."

you quirked a faint smile, removing your current piece and hooking neytiri's around your neck. even though it was designed for a 8ft tall woman, it fit perfectly against your chest. it even smelled like her.

you sighed deeply, your moment cut short when norm cleared his throat. your focus snapped to him expectantly.

"i've got to go out again. i'll probably be a few days, at most." he informed you. "you remember the rules, right?"

you nodded, smiling politely as he left you to your thoughts. you weren't exactly sure of the details of the instructions norm received from jake. for the most part, you were free to do what you wanted as long as you didn't wander too close to the RDA base.

but you made a promise to kiri, and you were never one for following orders anyway. now, more than ever.

—

"the location of jake sully." general ardmore enunciated her words.

spider was fastened against the interrogation machine, mechanical panels of green light whirring around him in a blur. behind the RDA general, a map of his brain was blown up, scientists buzzing around it like flies searching for their last meal.

"a single thought, and we'll see it." she continued monotonously, "we know you know where he is."

"i don't know! i swear!" spider screamed, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he fought a battle against his very own mind. his eyes squeezed shut, gritting his teeth to zero in on the pain.

quaritch observed the boy, letting the interrogation continue for a few seconds longer before pulling the plug. the general whipped to face him, disgruntled, but he held out a giant blue hand to calm her.

"let me try the personal approach."

"you're not his father." ardmore reminded him, her eyes cold and calculating. "i meant to discuss something i saw on your fallen soldier's body cam, by the way."

quaritch's eyes momentarily drifted to a shuddering spider, blood trailing out of his nose.

"what?" quaritch answered the general.

"you encountered another savage human, did you not?"

"yeah." quartich replied, wanting to speed up the conversation so he could make his play at spider. "do we have to do this now—"

"did you notice she didn't have a gas mask?"

the general's words made him freeze. huh. he, in fact, did not notice that.

"and she was breathing just fine." ardmore scoffed, stepping off the interrogation platform and rubbing her temples. "wonder what freak of nature cooked her up. regardless, she could be a step further in solving the problem of sustaining human life on pandora. she's a person of interest."

"i assume jake sully took her when he ran and hid." quaritch mentally rifled through his memories for any indication of your continued stay in the forest. by his understanding, you were a sully as well.

"that's your first mistake." ardmore's voice was clipped as she stormed off. "just keep an eye out. and if she did flee with the family, don't kill her."

quaritch tossed an unimpressed look at ardmore. he didn't care about the girl, but duty was duty.

"i'm gonna talk to the kid," quartich circled back to his original task. ardmore waved him off.

as if talking would work on spider—and it didn't. quaritch sat on the table next to spider, trying to appeal to his need to escape from here, the tantalizing chance of being out with the recom group. he knew the boy would scheme against them, but he figured he could handle anything the runt tried.

if anything, he was glad spider was the only connection to jake sully he had to tame in order to pursue the enemy.

"i'm not going to ask you to betray jake sully. i know you're not going to do that. you're loyal, and... i admire loyalty." quaritch's lips twitched up in a smile. "just... ride along."

spider refused to look at his pseudo-father, but he wasn't going to pass up that deal. anything to get out of there.

soon enough he was on the squad's airship. quaritch's heavy hand gripped his shoulder, pushing him down into a seat.

"you listen up," he towered over him. "there's a tracker built in that mask. we hit the ground and you take off, i'll have you back in two minutes and i'll give you an old school ass whippin'. understood?"

spider rolled his eyes at him, writhing in the mutant's iron grip.

"understood?" quaritch repeated, his glare sharp and unforgiving.

spider narrowed his eyes, "yes sir." he responded derisively.

when the recoms found a clearing in the forest, they stationed their ship and huddled up among the lush greenery.

"wherever jake sully is, we'll find him." quaritch promised, determination set in his features. "and his batshit crazy wife, too."

he earned a round of murmured chuckles from his squad.

"matter fact, every one in the sully lineage is a pain in the ass." quaritch rested his hands on his belt as he continued. "the oldest son took out zhang. the little ones bit y'all, and their human adoptee put more holes in this squad than i can count on one hand." he clicked his tongue in disappointment. "that's not good. we can't have that. which reminds me of our second objective: bring the girl in for testing."

spider frowned, his mind racing to decipher their intentions. but you should be long gone by now, so his worries subsided.

"if that girl can be just as savage as the rest of 'em, we should have no problem going full na'vi. we're already blue."

spider thought it laughable when he listened to them planning to go 'full na'vi.' he couldn't help but think that it would be easy as pie to mislead them, since they were stupid enough to entrust their learning to him.

oh yeah, there was no way these guys were catching jake sully anytime soon. not if he had any say in the matter.

—

you felt much more comfortable in the forest. sounds of your footsteps didn't echo behind you and for once, you breathed in fresh air instead of the musk of scientists parked in front of their microscope for three days straight.

well, you were mostly soundless. the beads of neytiri's necklace click clicked together every time you took a big leap. but you figured you blended in well enough to the soundboard of pandora.

crouching atop the thick branches a ways away from the RDA base, you caught sight of quaritch hanging out the side of an airship that was taking off.

you followed from a distance, remaining perched and hidden among the leaves. you craned your neck out, eyes peering down at them. you could make out the bandages over the wounds you inflicted. and—

"spider." you whispered before you could stop yourself. he was okay.

though you could hardly call being right in the palms of your enemy 'okay.' your first instinct was to leap out but you silenced the urge and pondered your next move. you knew firsthand you couldn't take them all, so you trailing behind them was all you could do until you found the right opportunity.

—

meanwhile, after a treacherous flight over a raging sea, the rest of the sullys found uturu with the na'vi of awa'atlu, a metkayina clan. no one was happy to begin with, and the rocky start with their hosts didn't help with their moods.

"don't cause trouble." jake warned them in their family huddle. "learn fast, pull your weight."

the soft cries of their youngest caught everyone's attention, all heads turning in her direction.

"i wanna go home," tuk sobbed, her usually bright eyes blurry with tears. "i miss y/n."

"aw, tuk," neytiri cooed with sympathy, her head tilting in concern.

"this is our home now." jake pulled her into his side, squeezing her comfortingly when her head knocked against his chest in defeat. "and soon enough, y/n will be able to live with us."

"what does your father always say?" neytiri supported her husband, giving her children expectant looks.

"sullys stick together." they droned unenthusiastically in unison.

"that's right," jake nodded, a sad yet hopeful smile on his face. "sullys stick together."

tsireya beckoned them outside, and they rushed into the water. that was one thing they were excited about. tuk waddled behind her older brothers', their flashy diving throwing her off guard. she whimpered softly as she glimpsed at the deep water, but after remembering she leaped off a waterfall with you, she figured she could handle a couple feet's worth of water.

she took a few steps back before catapulting herself off the walkway with an excited whoop.

she surfaced with a gasp followed by a bright laugh. "i wish y/n was here, she'd love this!"

"y/n?" aonung treaded water, approaching the group as they surfaced and breathed in deeply. "who is this y/n?"

"just our sister back—"

"shhh, tuk!" lo'ak snapped, lightly shoving her shoulder.

"what?" she whined, her face disappearing underwater momentarily. she returned above water with a glare.

"you have left behind a sister?" aonung scoffed in disbelief. "what, is she more ugly than you?"

lo'ak bared his teeth but before he could bite back, neteyam stepped in. "she's older than us, old enough to live by herself."

"she's staying with our human friends—"

"tuk!" lo'ak hissed, rearing on his youngest sister with an incredulous look. "take a hint!"

"what?" she whined again, more aggressively. "it's true!"

"they don't need to know everything!"

"ahhh," a stupid smirk wormed its way onto aonung's face, looking at tsireya and roxto for support in his interrogation. "is this sister a demon?"

"aonung." tsireya cut in sharply, her brows knitted. he ignored her, enjoying how visible lo'ak's rage was.

"i am not surprised. after all, you all are contaminated with demon's blood."

"let it go." neteyam bit out in lo'ak's ear, pushing him as best he could in the water. lo'ak, a million retorts dormant on his tongue, took his older brother's advice and tore himself out of the water, storming along the walkway back to their marui.

"wait!" tsireya called behind them helplessly. she swam closer to the walkway as neteyam helped pull tuk out of the water. "i apologize for my brother. he has no manners. please, come back out with us."

neteyam flashed her a brief, appreciative smile. "we'll be back in a few minutes. i promise."

the minute he turned his back to walk off, his smile immediately dropped and he let out a deep sigh. his work was definitely cut out for him.

—

you watched as spider taught the recoms how to tell if a fruit was poisonous or not. eventually they broke their huddle to go harvest what would be lunch, dinner, and probably breakfast.

strangely enough, a seed of eywa floated out of nowhere and found its resting place on your new necklace. wildly confused but preoccupied with spider, you shooed it away.

now or never. you told yourself, skillfully descending the tree. landing without a sound, you stalked through the bushes, hanging low to the ground.

you snuck up behind them, crouching just behind spider as he looked on with crossed arms, like a schoolteacher supervising kindergarteners during recess.

you grabbed his wrist. "spider. come on, let's go." you whispered urgently.

he tensed up, startled, resisting your grip. "y/n? why are you—"

"we can chat later. come on, they're all distracted."

"i can't."

"why?"

"tracker." he tapped his mask.

your stomach flipped. shit. how are you going to work around that? you sunk back down out of sight.

"okay. face them, act normal. don't react, and don't talk." you whispered your instructions. "i'm gonna ask you questions. show one finger for yes, two for no."

he folded his arms behind his back, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"are you okay?" you asked.

he held up a finger. yes.

"okay. do they know jake left?"

yes. his single finger remained extended.

"do they know where they are?"

he flashed two fingers. no.

"but they're still pursuing them." you asked for clarification.

yes.

"can they track them?"

yes.

"they can. with what? radio chatter?"

yes, he indicated, but made a keep going motion with his hands.

"airships?"

yes.

okay. you thought. at least you knew jake and the rest weren't about to contact the human base anytime soon, if ever.

you clutched your head. spider's tracker put a dent in your plans, but you weren't totally surprised. and idea popped into your head. your fingers curled around your own comm choker, snapping it off your neck.

checking to see if the coast was clear, you tied it around spider's wrist. thankfully, it looked like any other omaticayan bracelet.

"i just tied my comm to you." you explained. "i'll reconnect to the system with a spare back at the base. use it whenever you feel the need to or get a chance."

he raised one finger to show he understood.

"round up!" quaritch's booming voice echoed even in the open space. "let's check out the loot."

"i'll see you." you whispered, patting his arm in farewell before sneaking off to a safe distance once more. you caught spider's faint nod before leaving.

tracker in the gas mask. you pursed your lips, racing against the sunset back to base. what could you possibly do about that?

—

"lo'ak, go back out there with your siblings. your hosts are waiting." jake ordered his son firmly, watching the boy pace anxiously.

"they can insult us all they want just cuz they decide to be decent people and house us?" lo'ak sneered.

"hey." jake snapped, eyes narrowing. "none of that. go outside."

lo'ak rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he begrudgingly obeyed his father's orders.

as soon as he left, jake sunk into a seat, dropping his face into his hands. "this was the right thing to do." he whispered, but it teetered between a statement and question of confidence.

"no use second guessing yourself now." neytiri advised, stoking the fire.

a beat of silence passed between them. gentle ocean breeze whistled past their marui, filling the atmosphere with a cool touch.

"what do you think she's doing?" jake mumbled.

"sleeping, hopefully." neytiri hummed with a far-off smile.

"knowing her?" jake chuckled, shaking his head. "definitely not."

they shared soft laughter, competing for who's prediction was the most accurate.

if only they knew you were single-handedly trying to undermine the RDA's operations.

. . .

thanks for reading! <3

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce @strawbaerriesvt @avatar-lover @ryiana @lxon-kxnnedy @zukki33 @chalahyung01 @ssc7514 @shmaptainbonky @aureolinb @whosbibi2000

© jsooly ‘25

[revelboo]

the Patterns scenarios are so interesting!! May I request Starscream or maybe Tarn?? Cannot get enough of them

Sure! 🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Patterns

Starscream x Reader

• Stretched out against him, you watch his handsome, alien face as his servos ghost down your neck. Tracing shapes against your collarbone with a warm servo and you relax. “Not quite the same as biolights,” he murmurs, servo sliding down your chest and along your ribs. “But still beautiful.” Leg sliding against his, you frown slightly. What’s he talking about?

• “What?” You ask and he cups your cheek, a servo sliding against a delicate whorl. Head dipping, his mouth brushes yours, the tip of his glossa tracing a stripe on your jaw. Lazily following your markings and patterns, mapping you out as his still pressurized spike stirs where it’s trapped between your bodies.

• “Your markings,” he says, servos curling around your arm to lift it so he can brush his mouth against the bare skin at the inside of your wrist just below that delicate bangle made of bits of himself. “They suit you.” And you’re frowning at him like you don’t believe him. “I’ve seen a few other humans and their stripes are nothing like yours.”

• Nose wrinkling at him, you try to figure out what he’s talking about. Is he talking about stretch marks? “What stripes?” And his wings flick, expression annoyed like you’re being difficult on purpose. But you honestly have no idea what he’s talking about.

• “The ones all over your body,” he growls, tracing a servo over your arm and you’re still frowning as you shake your head. Making him wonder if you’re messing with him. Or if you really can’t see them. Sitting up, he drags you into his lap. “You can’t see them?” And you shake your head at him to make his wings droop. Helm brushing your forehead before his cheek brushes against you, venting softly.

• “Are they pretty?” You ask, giving up. Whatever he’s seeing, it’s invisible to you. Is he seeing a spectrum, you can’t? Or maybe the tracery of your veins through your skin? That thought’s a little unnerving, but it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing you’ve run into living with an alien.

• “They’re gorgeous,” he growls, bending to lay you down and shifting over you. You arch under him when his spike stretches you, and his hips curl, moving lazily against you. Dimly wondering why you have them if you can’t see them, but he loves the patterns they form on your skin. Stripes and whorls and he’s constantly finding new ones. Looking for patterns in the constellations on your skin. Hips pumping as you gasp his name, his servos slide against your side. Can’t stop tracing over you. Memorizing the patterns. Wondering what you’d say if he admitted that he’s considered copying bits of your patterns onto his plating, getting Thundercracker to help him repaint parts of himself with your designs, something subtle in a shade barely darker than his own red. Wanting to mark himself with you like he’s marked you.