#slightly frustrated *curls up in a ball and cries*

[itspinkflowers]

Fic finder

I'm going crazy searching for this fic, maybe someone else can help me.

I'm 90% sure it's a Kalluzeb fic (either slash or pre-slash), the other 10% could be a Kallus gen fic? But I'm mostly convinced it's Kallus/Zeb just because it's the one I read the most. I read it on AO3 and I'm pretty sure it's either a long fic (10+k) or part of a longer series.

All I can remember is this one specific scene. Kallus has already defected and is part of the Rebellion, so it's probably set on Yavin 4. Since the higher ups don't trust him yet, one of his superiors (Draven maybe?) puts him in charge of organizing the Rebellion's IT system. Something about a tree file system that needs to be put in order? And Kallus does, but then!

His superior officer discovers that Kallus was actually rearranging files he didn't have the authorization to access! Lots of "Who gave you the authority" kind of accusations, basically. Except that when Kallus, his SO and another character (Madine? Dodonna? An OC?) take a look at the files and folders, they realize that Kallus had the authorization all along because his SO had accidentally given it to him.

That's all I can remember, but I've been wracking my brain searching for the fic this scene belongs to because I really want to reread it, but I can't find it :( Does anyone else have any idea?

Thank you!

[needypisces]

there's only so much a body can work out, a body can do

Art Donaldson was exhausted.

He was playing tennis for hours a day, exams were coming up, and with Patrick calling from a new time zone every week, he was barely getting any sleep. Even sliding facedown onto the bed next to you offered little relief for his aching muscles.

You let out a sympathetic cluck at his frustrated sigh, dropping your book and winding a hand into his shaggy hair to scratch reassuringly at his scalp. “Poor baby,” you said. “You’re wound up way too tight.”

He didn’t reply, but you could hear his exhale into the mattress. “You need to relax.” You continued, twisting a loose curl around your finger.

“I’m not so good at that.” He admitted in a muffled voice.

“You just need some help.” You paused for a moment, eyeing the tension in his shoulders, the slight arch of his back. “Why don’t you lie down?”

Art tilted his chin up to look at you. “I am lying down.”

“On your back.”

He scanned your eyes briefly before obeying, shirt riding up his toned stomach in the process. “Like this?”

“Yeah, just like that.” You agreed. You sat beside him and he shifted slightly to maintain better eye contact, bringing up an arm to rest behind his head. The movement drew your gaze to his taut bicep, and you couldn’t resist bending down to bite it, just barely hard enough to sting.

You smiled into Art’s skin at his surprised inhale, but you were the one caught off guard when his other arm swept you seamlessly into his lap.

“Hey!” You said, sitting up straight. “Hands to yourself.” He pouted, hand still gripping your hip, but you weren’t joking. When you started to lift yourself off, he caved.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He said, propping himself up with both arms now. “You’re in charge.”

“Don’t forget it.” You warned. He watched, chastised, as you dropped your own hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up until it bunched at his collarbone. Then, finally, you leaned down to kiss him.

Art was a needy kisser, always waiting for you to guide him, chasing your mouth with his own any time you tried to pull back, whimpering when you licked at the inside of his mouth. You loved kissing him, loved how much it worked him up. He was still a teenage boy, after all.

Once you could feel him properly hard beneath you, you began to descend, teeth scraping his jawbone, his collarbone, his nipple, followed soothingly by your tongue each time. Art’s abdomen was tense beneath your mouth as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his ribs, his navel, his hips.

The tip of his cock was already sticky when you pulled down his boxers and grasped him in your fist, and you wasted no time in leaning down to tongue his slit. Normally you’d tease him much longer, make him beg, but right now, you just wanted to make him feel better. Art could hardly believe his luck.

You pumped the base of him with one hand and cupped his balls with the other as you suckled at his head. A whine escaped from high in the back of Art’s throat, and it only encouraged you to swallow more of him down.

“Oh,” he gasped, hips bucking into your mouth. “Fuck, please, please.” You moved a hand to rub his thigh reassuringly, a wordless promise, and lowered yourself further until your nose nestled against his pelvis. Art was panting desperately above you, the noises so sweet you couldn’t stop yourself from grinding down against his leg. He moaned at the feeling of your wetness, which only spurred you on more. For a while, the only sounds in the room were your slurps and gags against Art's cries.

Before long, you could feel the familiar signs of his impending orgasm, and you popped off. It took Art a moment too long to comprehend that you were speaking, too mesmerized by the string of drool connecting you to his dick.

“Where do you want to come, baby?” You asked again, hand continuing your work. “Hmm?”

“Is this a trick question?” He asked between shallow breaths.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and Art’s chest flushed pink. “No.” You promised, ducking to mouth at his balls. “Anywhere you want. Do you want to come in my mouth? On my face, or on my tits?” His face was beautifully unforgettable when you glanced up, eyes dazed and cheeks glowing as he tried to form a thought. “Come on, princess, use your words.”

At that, Art’s cock twitched in your grasp and you took him back into your mouth, tongue working at the underside. “On your face,” he finally said above you, and your stomach swelled. “Wanna come on your face.”

“Okay, baby,” you murmured. “Anything for you.” You pulled off long enough to soak two fingers in your spit, simultaneously gulping him back down and pressing the pads of your fingers behind his balls. Art clenched down and let out a strangled moan as you rubbed over his hole. You teased him with the tip of a finger, nudging at the muscle but not quite penetrating him, soaking up the mewls that fell from his mouth.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna- you’re gonna make me come,” he panted. His thighs were quivering; he was so close, the tension ready to drain from his body. You gave an encouraging hum, swallowing around his cock, and Art’s gasp broke into a sob as he came. You kept him in your mouth for a moment, letting yourself swallow just a little before pulling off to let him splatter onto your face. Art’s whimpers were delicious as he watched himself coat your swollen lips, your long lashes.

“Good boy,” you cooed, fist still working his cock even as he began to flinch from the overstimulation. “That’s it, does that feel better?”

Art’s head was tipped back as he struggled to catch his breath, but even still, his eyes refused to move from the mess on your face. You kept your eyes on his as you lowered your mouth once more, lapping at the dribble of cum down his cock. He started to whine in protest, it was too much, but you took pity and let him go, rocking back on your heels.

“So much better,” he whispered. “That felt so good, I needed it, thank you."

“Good.” You said, licking your lips. “That’s what I like to hear.”

[perkypeony]

𝕋ℝ𝔸ℙℙ𝔼𝔻

Yandere Gojo Satoru x fem reader

The days blur together in a repetitive cycle. Trapped in Satoru's apartment with no phone and no human interaction, y/n begins to feel her sanity slip.

“Is he still mad at me?” she mumbles to herself. It has been five days since Satoru left for a mission. He told her that this mission would take three days, yet he's nowhere to be found. Not that she doesn't appreciate the alone time, but the thought that he might purposely leave her alone in this apartment to die and rot is too haunting to ignore.

She gets up from the bed and makes her way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she sees an egg. There isn't much left in there; a few more days without his return and she will be starving. She makes scrambled eggs and toasts a slice of bread. As she eats, her mind can't stop recalling her argument with Satoru the night before he left.

The soft glow of the TV bathes the living room in a warm light as y/n absentmindedly flips through the channels. It is one of the few things left that she can enjoy in her otherwise restricted life.

Suddenly, the screen goes black, and she turns to see Satoru standing by the TV, remote in hand. His usual smirk plays on his lips as he approaches her.

“Time for bed,” he announces, not giving her a chance to protest as he scoops her up effortlessly.

She sighs inwardly, the small amount of peace she had found in the TV now gone. As he carries her to the bedroom, she can’t help but feel a wave of irritation. She has spent the entire day at his side, catering to his whims, and now even the few moments she has to herself are being taken away.

In the dimly lit bedroom, he sets her down gently on the bed and climbs in beside her, pulling her close. “Cuddle me,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will miss me when I’m gone on a mission tomorrow.”

Exhausted and frustrated, she lets out a small huff. “Satoru, I’ve been with you all day. Can’t I just have a little time to myself?”

His eyes flash with anger, and he grips her arm tightly. “Are you being ungrateful?” he spits. “I’m a good boyfriend. I’m strong, handsome, and I give you everything. And this is how you repay me? By asking for ‘alone time’?”

She can feel her temper rising, but the fear of his wrath keeps her silent. “I’m not ungrateful, Satoru. I just… need some space sometimes.”

He scoffs, his grip loosening slightly. “Space? You need space from me? After everything I do for you?”

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she blinks them back, knowing that fighting back would only make things worse. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He sighs, pulling her even closer. “Just close your eyes and sleep.”

Time goes by and without y/n realizing it, the sky has already darkened, signaling nighttime. She's laying on the lavish couch, rereading a novel that she's read twice before. The clock is ticking, and the longing she feels for Satoru grows stronger. As she's about to fall asleep, the clicking of the door lock jolts her awake. She immediately runs towards the door, wanting to welcome him home.

“Satoru, how was the mission? I've been waiting for you for days,” she says as she hugs him.

Satoru pries her away from him, earning a surprised and confused reaction from her. “I'm tired. Leave me alone.”

Y/n nods before making her way back to the couch and plopping onto it. She curls up into a ball and buries her face in her knees, finding comfort in her own embrace. Does Satoru not love her anymore? She doesn't think she can bear this situation any longer. Trapped in this apartment with nowhere to go, and worse, her captor himself doesn't care about her. The tears brimming in her eyes finally escape. Her body shudders as she pitifully sobs.

Suddenly, she feels a hand on her shoulder. “Princess, don't cry. I just wanted to test if you miss me.”

Y/n only cries harder. Satoru takes a seat beside her before lifting her body onto his lap, cradling her. “I didn't mean what I said just now. I would never feel tired of you.”

She clings onto him, though deep down she feels disgusted with herself for having to lean on Satoru to stay sane. He's the only human she can interact with. All her male friends are dead. As for her family and her close friends, she has to beg Satoru not to hurt them. She's sick of his twisted ways of loving her, but at one point she gives up and accepts her fate.

Satoru grins at the sight of her crying. He knows he has succeeded in making her depend on him, and him only.

[webslingingslasher]

jbae!! if you're taking requests, can I ask for something with trouble comforting peter? maybe he's had a terrible week and loads of things pile up and he just collapses (maybe he even cries out of frustration cause I'm a sucker for that) and trouble just holds him to her chest and runs her hands through his hair 🥺 only if you want to though!! have a great day ily

*you always ask when peter knows he's in love with trouble...* (cleaning out my drafts)

peter's been m.i.a. all day.

rumor is he skipped class and slept past breakfast... and lunch. the unanswered texts you have string along with the theory. you were talking to peter last night so you don't think he's sick, at least not with a cold.

he'd been pulling back the last few days because he's been so busy. you haven't seen him in three days because of a test or a frat meeting or dinner with his aunt - in your opinion, he's spread a little too thin and you think that caught up to him today.

if peter can cut class and hang out at the frat house so can you. unsure if he's taking another nap. you're not risking a phone call that'll wake him and settle for a quiet entry with slow steps up the stairs before silently opening his door and sliding in.

peter's not asleep; he's awake and staring at his ceiling. he knows you're here but he can't bring himself to make believe happy. so he doesn't.

you softly shut his door and rest your back on it. 'do you have a case of the sads?' peter stays in his starfish position for way too long, you think he's building the courage to speak for the first time today. when he does, it's raspy and riddled with depression.

'i have a case of the sads.' even saying it makes him want to curl into a ball. it's times like this he wishes he was home and still small enough to crawl into his aunt's bed.

you've never seen peter this depleted, all spark in him has fizzled. 'do you want to cuddle?' you don't need to ask what's wrong, you already know. and you're getting the feeling he really just wants silent company.

peter sits up to open the space next to him, he's not moving until you're settled because he's about to rest his entire weight on you. the second you steal his spot, he lays on top and buries his face into you while you warmly accept the pressure.

peter only hides in you like this when he's sick or really tired. you don't say anything while you gently tuck a curl behind his ear, you lightly smile and graze the outer edge with your finger- a small twitch tells you he doesn't like it.

normally, you'd double down. today, he needs nice.

'you have cute ears.' it's barely above a whisper, 'i should see them more often.' peter doesn't respond, you didn't need him to.

it's a peaceful quiet, you think it's nice just being in peter's presence sometimes. you keep dragging your hand up and down his back, you're trying to tell him he's okay with your touch. your other combs through his hair over and over, you think he might be falling asleep and you gladly welcome it.

you're not sure how peter's breathing he's tucked into your chest so tight, but as long as he's able to you won't complain. you start to trace little squares over his skin while slightly zoning out on a bird on his balcony collecting what looks like twigs from the overhanging tree.

your shirt feels like it's clinging to you, peter's washing his hot breath into it. you change your shapes to squiggles. the bird hops around, another twig is scooped up. you glance down at your chest and stop your hands.

it's not just choked breath.

'are you crying?'

the floodgates burst.

peter digs into you, holding you so tight you almost wheeze. his shoulders shake as he sobs into you, your heart shatters as he breaks down. peter's never cried in front of you and it's fucking terrible to see.

you don't know what to do, you just act on instinct and try to wrap your arms around him like he always does to you. it always makes you feel protected and secure, it makes you feel like peter's a safe place and nothing can hurt you in his hold.

'you're okay, petey.' you're saying it for the both of you. 'you're okay.' peter thrashes his head back and forth, he doesn't agree. you steady him and say it again. 'you're okay, i promise you're okay.'

it's a little weak because you don't feel like you're fixing much but it always helps when peter says it.

'i'm here. you're gonna be okay because i'm here.' you hear a trumpet in your mind when peter crawls further up to tuck his head under your chin. it's working, you're doing good.

peter's never cried in front of a girl before. his aunt doesn't count and neither does- he doesn't let his mind go there, he's already spirling hard enough.

but you're warm and soft and really fucking loving and it's making him cry harder because it's all he wanted today and you showed up with an abundance of it.

you're crushed at the sound, if you could suffocate the sad out of him you would've already done it. 'please don't throw yourself into a panic attack.' he wasn't going to, but now that you said it he thinks he's approaching that territory quickly.

you can sense it too. you press him closer and breathe deep, his head sinks with your chest. 'do one with me.' it's weak and followed by a cough.

'one more.' he mimics you, it's better this time. peter does the third on his own, you praise him with a back rub. 'see? you're okay.' the smallest of nods, a short stutter of breath and he's sniffling to hold more in.

'let it out. you broke yourself to get to this point, let it out.' it's another wave but it's not as brutal, it's bordering on the verge of pitiful. 'you're not allowed to do this to yourself anymore, peter. i didn't say anything but next time i will. you can't stretch yourself like this, it isn't healthy.'

'i'm sorry.' he doesn't know if he's sorry for crying or for making you care this much. it's a blanket statement, he thinks. you won't let it be one. 'don't you dare say sorry. there's nothing to be sorry about.'

peter can't fathom why, but he almost spews out an i love you and it terrifies him. he feels it in his chest, there's a level of care and affection you're giving him that he's never had before. if he knew he was dying, he'd do it right here in your arms.

peter's never felt safe in another person's hold before. you'd protect him at all costs, even from himself and you just proved it. he needs to see you, he needs to see the face he calls home. he needs you to smile softly at him like he's your world because he promises this time he'd do the same.

you do exactly what he wishes and he feels a pang to his heart when you lightly wipe under his cheeks. 'are you all cried out? if not i'll bully you into more.' god, he wants to swarm you with a thousand kisses.

'i'm okay now.' he hovers over you, an arm on each side of your head. you accept a tiny kiss where your neck and collarbone meet, it's a delicate marking. 'good, you needed it. you also need to eat, and please tell me you had some water today. i'll make you anything you want, or i'll buy you dinner- anything you want, you deserve good things when you have a case of the sads.'

you don't recognize the look on peter's face but it makes you a little self-conscious, you might be a tad overbearing. 'why are you looking at me like that? am i being a little over the top?'

he's still wearing it. 'not at all.' you feel good about it, you're sticking to your guns about standing up to him if you need to. 'okay, good, because even if you said i was, i wouldn't care. i know you're mr. big strong tough man but i swear you need someone to check you sometimes because you get-'

'i really need to kiss you right now.'

you stop yourself and blink at his words. 'oh.' your cheeks feel warm, you nod one time before peter's pressing his bottom lip to your top one and lowering himself until his chest brushes yours.

it's a different kind of kiss, there's nothing behind it except just wanting to do exactly as he said. a cluster of pecks before he pulls back to look at you, you can't place what he's thinking.

'what?' peter shakes his head before going in for another, after the third time he'd failed to remove himself from you, you stop him. 'i don't care how many times you kiss me, mister. you're not getting anything until i see you eat something.'

funny. your request just makes him want to kiss you more. 

[accioscarheadthings]

↳ 𝗜𝗻 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗔𝗿𝗺𝘀 - 𝗔𝘀𝗮𝗵𝗶 𝗔𝘇𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

summary: where asahi breaks down after Karasuno lost that one match against Date Tech

pairings: highschool!asahi azumane x highschool! volleyballplayer! fem!reader

warning: hurt/comfort, fluff<3

main masterlist !

you were the only player left in the gymnasium after practice. you decided to stay behind to practice your ball-contact, and were busy tapping the ball against the wall, listening to the satisfying thump it made each time it made contact.

the sound of the door slamming open snapped you out of your focus, and you turned to see your boyfriend, asahi, standing in the doorway.

he was still in his volleyball jersey and shorts, just like you, but something was off about him.

he looked a bit sheepish, his head hanging low as if he was embarrassed about something. you could see the tension radiating off him, the stiff way he held his body with his shoulders squared and fists clenched. it was clear he was hurting badly.

you caught the volleyball in your hand, stepping to him, "asahi? what's wrong?"

as you approached him, he continued to avoid your gaze. his shoulders were still tense and his fists gripped.

"asahi, look at me,"

hesitantly, he raised his tired gaze to you, chin wobbling, "i-i messed up, babe. we couldn't win the match against date tech, and i-" he took a deep breath, "i quit the team,"

"why?" you mouth slackened and your frowned, "honey, what happened?"

asahi's face contorted with sadness and frustration. he struggled to keep his voice form wavering, "i had a fight with the team. with nishinoya, and the others," his hands curled tighter, "i was frustrated. i couldn't spike past their blocking. and nishinoya, he- we got into a big fight after the match. he called me a 'coward' and i quit. for good,"

tossing the ball in your grip over your shoulder, you beckoned him closer with open arms, "c'mere,"

asahi hesitated for a moment before rushing into your arms. he leaned into your embrace, his body trembling slightly with pent-up emotion.

you enveloped asahi in a tight hug, holding him close to you. you could feel the tension still in his body, the way his muscles were clenched and his shoulders rigid. but he didn't pull away, instead resting his head on your shoulder and letting out a deep sigh.

"it's okay," you murmured, trying to soothe him and rubbed circles on his taut muscles, "it's okay,"

you were considerably shorter than asahi, so in your embrace, he loomed over you, his head bowed to rest on your shoulder. his arms encircled your body as he clung to you, seeking comfort in your presence. despite the difference in height, you could feel the weight of his emotions as he leaned heavily against you, his body trembling with the force of his sorrow.

asahi had his face buried in your neck, hands clutched at your shirt, one at the back and other at the front on your hip.

"don't hold it in," you murmured, "you don't have to keep it all bottled up. let it all out,"

his shoulders trembled, and you could feel the dampness of his tears seeping through your jersey onto your skin. you held him a little tighter, caressing his back and whispering gentle words of comfort.

"i'm here for you. you don't have to go through this alone,"

at your words, something snapped within him.

asahi's legs buckled and gave out, his weight pulling you down with him. you both sank to the gymnasium floor, landing with a soft thud. you were now sitting on the hardwood floor with asahi half-laying on top of you, his head still buried in the crook of your neck.

his body shook with the force of his tears as asahi allowed himself to sob into your chest. the dam of his repressed emotions had broken, and he cried without restraint, his tears soaking through your shirt.

it was a painful sight to behold, his grief was so raw and intense. you rocked back and forth lightly, letting him cry his heart out, and pressed your lips against his hair, peppering him with kisses.

gradually, asahi's sobs ebbed, his body calming as he continued to cling to you. he took in deep, shaky breaths, trying to compose himself. but still, he didn't pull away, remaining in your embrace.

he had his head ducked against your chest, tracing your number on the edge of your shorts, which was his birthdate.

his eyes were unfocused, still lost in his own thoughts. he seemed to find comfort in the repetitive motion, in the connection to something familiar, to himself.

he held onto you tightly, as if you were his lifeline, grounding him in the present.

you slowly uncoiled his clenched fingers from his tight fist, flattening them against your palm. you sponged a deep kiss to the inside of his palm.

"asahi, look up, my love," you spoke, pressing his hand to your cheek, feeling the rough texture of his hand, evidence of his years of volleyball.

asahi's eyes slowly focussed on yours, his gaze meeting your own as he rested his chin against your chest. his thumb caressed your cheekbone, fingers splayed on the side of your face.

you could see a myriad of emotions in his eyes, sadness, regret, but also a hint of hope.

cradling his face with one hand, you placed your forehead against asahi's, breathing in deeply as you closed your eyes.

it was a simple gesture, but it felt so intimate, a way for you to feel closer to him and hopefully provide some comfort.

asahi's voice was a soft murmur, his apology like a whispered confession into the small space between you, "i'm sorry you had to see me like that," he mumbled, "i'm sorry you had to comfort me,"

frowning at his words, you flicked his forehead, "there's no need to apologize," you said firmly, "I'm right here to support you through this, so don't regret expressing your feelings, alright? idiot,"

he blinked at the flick, a small surprised huff escaping him. but then his lips twitched, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth when you called him an 'idiot'.

he looked at you, his emotions still raw, but there was a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes.

his heart skipped a beat when you snuggled your face into his hand on your face, holding it in place with your free hand.

you pressed a series of light, gentle kisses all over asahi's face, your lips moving from his forehead to his cheeks, temples and jaw.

asahi closed his eyes, surrendering to your kisses. he let out a deep, shuddering sigh, each kiss was a balm to his aching heart.

he leaned into your touch, relishing the feeling of your lips on his skin.

when you reached his lips, you could taste the saltiness of his tears on your lips, a sweet and bitter reminder of the emotions he had just expressed.

his palm on your cheek slid behind, his hand coming to rest on the nape of your neck, and pulled you closer, seeking more contact between the two of you.

the act was unexpected, but it showed how much he needed your presence and comfort.

you could feel the pounding of his heart against your chest, the slight tremble of his body betraying the vulnerability he was feeling.

asahi's breathing was ragged, and there was a needy quality to the way he held on to you, as if he was desperate for your warmth, for your touch.

he tilted his head, his lips slanting over yours as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth.

your mouths moved together, the kiss more urgent, more desperate now. his tongue tangled with yours, as if he was trying to tell you something without words. the need and the want in his actions was clear.

you could feel his fingers pressing into your skin, the heat of his body radiating against your own as he continued to kiss you fiercely, hungrily.

the room was filled with the soft sounds of your breathing and the wet noises of your mouths meeting over and over.

his hands roamed over your body, pulling your hips closer to his, his fingers clenching on the fabric of your shirt.

it was as if he wanted to merge with you, to become one, to lose himself in the sensation of your bodies being closer than you've ever been.

asahi pulled back from the kiss, reluctantly breaking the connection between your lips.

he smiled bashfully, his cheeks flushing a light pink as he took in the sight of you, breathless and flushed from his kisses.

you held asahi's face gently, your hand cupping his cheek. your voice was firm and full of conviction as you spoke, "i'm here for you, okay? always. you don't have to face anything alone. and don't apologize for coming to me when you need me. ever,"

asahi's gaze held yours, his eyes wide and soft. he leaned into your touch, his body relaxing as if he was absorbing the comfort and reassurances you were offering, "understood," he whispered, kissing away the tense frown on your lips.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲?

summary: Dieter Bravo is freezing.

warnings: silly fluff. gn assitant!reader x boss!Dieter (platonic). swearing. Dieter talking about his cock -> he/him. half naked Dieter. no beta. w.c: 874

an: for @sp00kymulderr “Dick Pronoun Fic Challenge”. I had a ball writing this. 😆💙

I found the item that inspired this drabble over the weekend when I was hosting @seventeenpins and I had to write something feat. the chaos man himself. Pic of said item is in the header lmao 🙃

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

October in California has a way of catching you off guard. One day, it's sweltering; the next, you're bundling under the covers and wearing multiple layers of clothing.

The sun was hiding behind the clouds as it rose over the horizon. A salty breeze rustles the palms that line Dieter's property as you sit on the back patio. You hug the sweater around your body but sit comfortably in your jean shorts as you add events to his already chalk full calendar.

As much as Dieter was chaos, he was also serene. He didn't mind you showing up to work in whatever clothes you wanted, sometimes joking about wearing nothing at all. You always rolled your eyes, but half of you believed he was telling the truth. You've seen him half-naked, only wearing his iconic green robe, at least a dozen times.

Thankfully, you were becoming immune. The shock no longer stops you in your tracks.

"Dieter, pants" became your catchphrase. Too many times, you pointed your finger toward the immaculate staircase in his house, sending the artist off in a huff to be more presentable.

It never was a dull day working for Dieter.

"NOODLES!!"

You stop typing when you hear Dieter's panic-stricken voice echo over the balcony.

"Noodles" is his nickname for you. It all started one day after you ate a bowl of Ramen. He was mesmerized for whatever reason while you ate lunch at his kitchen island. He was stoned, having consumed an entire plate of Korean BBQ after a lengthy painting session. As much as you didn't want it, the name stuck.

"What!?" You crane your neck toward the balcony situated slightly overhead.

"HAVE YOU SEEN WALLY?!" Dieter leans over the railing with worry etched on his brow. His green robe graces his shoulders as he looks down at you, his soft brown curls naturally askew.

You think for a moment, puzzled, before looking up at him. "What!?"

"WALLY! I'M FUCKING FREEZING!" He cries before running back through the balcony doors.

What in god's name is a Wally?

"Why don't you put on some more clothes?!" You suggest, leaning back in your chair, thankful for the break.

You can only imagine what his neighbors must think.

"IT'S TOO WARM FOR CLOTHES!"

You raise your hands in frustration. There wasn't any way to subdue him.

Just then, a pair of leather pants lands in a crumbled heap on the stone patio.

The sheer black button-up Dieter wore to the premiere of The Bubble floats down and lands next to the pair of pants. The cowboy boots he got as a gift for working on an indie film, which he never wore, other than that time you found him in nothing but in said boots strutting around his studio with his fingers posed as guns, bounces off the stone and ricochets in difference directions.

You take a long swig of coffee and rub your temples as more and more clothing rain over the balcony. "WHERE IS WALLLLLLYYYYY?"

Finally, a cheer bursts from the bedroom and down to the patio as you start back on your task.

"NEVERMIND! I FOUND HIM!"

Great. The first crisis of the day averted.

Dieter races down the staircase and rounds the patio table with a bounce in his step. Thankfully, you had no more coffee, or you would've spit it all over your laptop.

Dieter proudly stands naked in front of you, wearing only his Crocs and sipping a fresh cup of coffee. His open green robe billows in the cool breeze leaving no inch of his golden body hidden as his cock and balls are wrapped in some bundle of red knit.

It looks like something your grandma would've made, and you instantly regret thinking of her in this situation.

"Dieter." All words cease to form as you stare dumbly at your half-naked boss.

"He's nice and toasty now." Dieter happily sighs and sits across from you, his robe parting directly down the middle. "He just needed his good ol' pal, Wally."

You notice his "bundle" through the glass table. It rests comfortably between his burly, spread thighs. A red knit bow is tied at the crest of his flaccid shaft. You'd never seen anything like it, and that scared you.

"Where did you get Wally?" You ponder before you can stop yourself.

Dieter purses his lips, deep in thought, before pointing to his lap, "He always gets cold whenever I wear my robe. So what's the best solution? A sock? Psh, it's not thick enough." He huffs, waving a hand like he's shooing a fly.

"Then I tried to wrap a knit hat around him, but the elastic acted more like a cock ring." He sends you a wink, and a playful brow twitches, rising and falling consecutively before leaning across the table like he's telling you a secret. "And then one night I was surfing the web and found this!"

His warm eyes beam with delight. "From then on, he's never been cold. Plus, I can move around without anything cramping my style."

You slowly nod. If there were ever a piece of clothing that was Dieter, this would be it.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. "Alright then. Let's make sure he's never without his Wally again."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[justdoingrandomstuff]

"Realistically..." You (ft. Gun Park)

platonic Gun and reader

An: I'm new to this, its just a fun scenario I suddenly came up with. I just knew I had to share it 🥲.

--------------------------------------

In the outskirts of Japan, spring had arrived, the season of new beginnings. Cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their delicate petals drifting through the air, creating a mesmerizing scene for tourists. The soundscape was filled with the hum of lawnmowers, birds chirping, children laughing, and families enjoying activities in their backyards.

Children ran freely, their laughter carried by the warm breeze. Snotty-nosed brats tumbled in the mud, played tag, flew kites, and raced one another to prove their speed. Among them, a particular child was chasing a cat that refused to be caught by grubby hands. Small, weak, and frail yet full of bravery, playfulness, and determination. This child possessed the same reckless energy as any other at that age.

They ran and ran, causing trouble along the way—bumping into a stall and earning a scolding from a vendor, pushing past other kids without a second thought, and getting chased by a nanny clearly unfit for the job.

Its was you!

Short and chubby yet quick enough to outrun the adults, you held out your arms, determined to catch the cat. Scratches covered your hands and legs, but you paid them no mind. Too focused on your goal, you didn’t notice where your chase had led you. Through a patch of trees, you emerged on the other side, oblivious to the towering gate and the large plaque above it that read ‘Yamazaki.’ Not that you could read it anyway.

You were so immersed in the chase that you failed to notice the boy staring at you, a boy with a look no child should have.

And before you knew it—

You tripped.

Because of the same boy.

His leg had been outstretched with the sole intention of tripping someone. He looked to be about your age, but you barely registered him as you cried, watching the cat disappear into a bush.

Splayed out on the ground, you wailed—not just out of frustration but also from the sharp pain stinging your chin and arms. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks, and snot threatened to dribble into your mouth. The boy grimaced in disgust.

"Ew. Wipe your nose." The boy, who you would later know as Gun—crouched next to you, nudging your side with his wooden sandal.

You didn’t listen to the boy, too busy crying your heart out over the lost cat and the stinging pain on your chin. You hiccuped, wailing even louder just to be difficult, snot hanging onto your lips as the boy recoiled at the scene. "Are you deaf? Wipe your nose." He pressed.

You sniffled loudly, wiping your nose with the palm of your hands, only making the mess worse. The boy made a face, recoiling slightly, but didn’t move away.

"You’re disgusting," he stated bluntly, tilting his head as if examining some strange, pitiful creature.

Still sniffling, you sat up and glared at him with the fury of a wronged child. "You tripped me!"

Gun blinked, unfazed. "Yeah."

Your tiny brain short-circuited from the sheer audacity of the boy in front of you. You expected an apology, maybe even help finding the cat, but instead, you got the driest response imaginable which made you want to bawl again.

"Why!?" You wailed.

Gun sighed as if your presence alone was exhausting. "You were running around like an idiot." His dark eyes flicked to where the cat had disappeared "And you were loud. It was annoying."

You hiccuped, rubbing your eyes furiously. “You made me lose the cat!”

"So?"

That one word. That single, indifferent word sent a fresh wave of outrage through you. You balled your fists and slammed them against the ground.

"You—you're the worst! A stupid face with weird eyes and weird shoes!"

Gun’s lips curled slightly. He flicked a pebble at your forehead. “You wanna fight?” He cracked his knuckles. “I’ll let you throw the first punch.”

You stopped mid-hiccup, staring at him. Wait. He was serious? For a moment, your childish brain struggled to process the situation. Most kids would back down, cry harder, and run away. Most kids would probably fight back and get beaten down.

But you were most kids, so you settled for both.

Without thinking, you swung your tiny, grubby hand right at his face.

Smack.

The world froze. Your palm, covered in dirt and wet snot, had landed squarely on Gun’s clean cheek. His head barely moved, but the sheer unexpectedness of the wet slap made the moment stretch unbearably long.

Then, Gun exhaled slowly through his nose. "You…" he muttered through gritted teeth.

You gulped.

Then—Gun lunged.

-----------------------------------------------------

The end. 😭

I dont know how to continue this. I'll just let ur imginations go wild <3

[superblysubpar]

Steve taking you to pound town and crushing you with his body :-)

the song: Lights Out by Col3trane

warnings: a teeny hint to edging/steve's a tiny bit possessive or jealous

The moan that leaves your mouth is sinful, and he squeezes at your hips harder, hand slapping at your ass, soothing over the red mark and caressing along the curve of it. Your fingers twist in the sheets, a low whine leaves your parted lips in a breath. Sweat beads at your hairline - it clings to your skin and his eyes greedily take in how it drips over all of your curves. Steve’s thrusts slow, a deep stroke that has you shuddering beneath him. His fingers brush down your spine and back up. You push against him, rolling your hips and he taps at your butt again lightly - a warning. 

Steve’s in a mood. 

If the way he slammed the door of your apartment when he came home, or how he found you in your bedroom with candles lit and a book - closing it for you and drawing the curtains and flicking off the lamp hadn’t tipped you off, the way he’s had his way with you for an hour would have. 

You drip for him, walls sucking him in and he has to blow his breath out of his nose at how easily he’s able to glide in and out of you. Your teeth bite hard into your bottom lip to muffle your cries from the open window, concealed only by the closed curtains that blow lazily in the summer breeze. 

He’s barely moving in and out of you now, pads of his fingers brushing up and down your arms that shake before he tugs lightly on the gold chain around your neck. His eyes almost roll back when you lift your head and the little ‘S’ glints in the orange flicker of the candlelight. 

You’re his. 

“Baby-” your voice is thick, breaking off into what sounds like a sob. His palms are flat on your spine, soothing up and down as he picks up his pace again. He pushes lightly on your lower back, humming when you spread your legs wider for him.

His brows are pinched together, his chest heaves as he pulls at your cheeks, watching how you suck him in. Groaning at the feeling of your walls clenching around him as your fingers flex on the mattress and your head drops, chin to your chest with a whimper.  

Steve slows his thrusts again right when the coil in your stomach is ready to snap. You gasp out in frustration, toes curling and fingers gripping the duvet. He leans forward and kisses the middle of your spine, hand reaching around your front. His fingers rub messy circles into your puffy clit while his hot breath and wet kisses attack your spine. 

One of his hands moves to your thigh, blunt fingernails scratching up and down as his index and middle fingers soothe bigger and faster circles over your needy clit. He pants against your slick skin as his resolve to not cum grows weaker. Every time he gets you close and he stops, a new wave of lust seems to gush around him, making you wetter and needier. 

He has to hear it, make sure everyone knows. Steve doesn’t care if his voice sounds desperate when he asks, “Only I can make you feel like this, right honey?”

You can’t think straight anymore, another whine, a frantic nod of your head and your hips roll again, pushing back against him. Steve curses under his breath when his balls hit your ass. He stops his movements abruptly, both hands holding your waist so you can’t move and your eyes squeeze closed. He had given you a warning. 

But Steve surprises you, his hands slowly roam from your waist, up your sides as his lips drag along your spine. You shiver beneath him and his hands drift down your arms, the weight of his chest heavy on your back. Steve laces his fingers with yours, pushing you both down into the mattress. Your legs flatten, fully lying on your front, only your ass in the air for him as one arm reaches around to lift you slightly while he mouths at your neck. 

“I said,” he presses another kiss behind your ear, nose dragging behind it, “Only I can make you feel like this, right?”

“Ye-yes,” your voice is a gasp, desperate for him to let you finally cum. 

He pulls out of you slowly, feeling the curve of him - every ridge against you on the dirty glide out and the sudden thrust back in. Your fingers flex under his larger and thicker ones, a pathetic sound leaves you and floats into the air that the neighbors are sure to hear now. Your cheek presses to the mattress and Steve makes a soft tutting noise, nosing at your jaw as he slams into you again. 

Your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out, the sound of him dragging himself in and out of you a pornographic and sinful squelch. Your eyelashes wet with tears from the way he slams the perfect spot deep inside of you that he finds with the new, deeper, position. Steve’s movements are faster now, balls slapping against your ass. He’s practically growling in your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe of it, chest hair scratching at your back. Every sense is overwhelmed, the only thoughts running through your mind revolve around him. 

Steve moans your name in your ear and the weight of him against you smothers you like the flames taking over your body. You writhe and wiggle beneath him and he can’t get enough of it. Steve laughs against your sweat slicked neck, thrusts stopping completely as he catches his breath. You push back against him with a growl and he pushes you into the mattress harder. 

His breath is hot in your ear again as he speaks, voice raspy, filthy, sexy. 

“If you wanna cum, tell everyone who’s making you feel this way baby.” 

Steve rolls you to your back before you can even blink, sliding inside of you in a deeper thrust, chest pressing to yours and smiling into your neck that extends for him when you throw it back against the pillow. Your toes curl as your heels dig into his ass, fingers gripping at his shoulders and back as his name leaves your lips in almost a scream. 

Steve’s lips press into your hairline, hands wrapped around your lower back as his thrusts keep going at a brutal pace. His praise lost against the skin of your temple, drowned in the chanting of his name. 

You look so good, maybe he’ll let you have what you want finally. 

[wizard-on-whales]

So Different Than What you see

NSFW - Minors do NOT interact

It's James 40th birthday and his first one sober so to celebrate the special day you give him all his favorite things

Warnings: Angst (sorry), mentions of alcohol, withdrawal symptoms, smut, oral M receiving, mommy issues

✭-----------------------------✭

The past few months seem to have blended into one. For James the days were long and the nights even longer. They were spent tossing and turning, his thoughts plaguing every corner of his mind. You knew he had been struggling since he started his battle with sobriety. His frequent withdrawals causing him to sweat and shake like a madman, frustrating him even more than normal. With his birthday coming up you knew you had to do something special for him, something that would mean a lot and boost his spirits a little. So for the past week you had been writing down every little idea you had, trying to figure out how to put it all together for one day. You had planned on waking him up with something special, one of the only things he can never say no to…a blow job. You giggle silently to yourself the night before as you crawl into bed next to his already sleeping figure. You pressed your chest against his back, snuggling close to him before dozing off, your plan lingering in your mind.

You woke up the next day, already disappointed by the fact that James was nowhere to be seen. You sat up in bed, looking around the room for him as his side of the bed lay cold and empty. You pout slightly before pushing the blankets off and marching down stairs, looking for him. There he was laying on the couch, curled up in his normal sweaty ball. His eyes made contact with yours and your heart shattered as you saw the glossy tears streaking down his face.

“Oh baby,” you say gently, walking towards him and sitting next to him. You push his hair out of his face, resting your hand on his cheek and stroking it slightly, “what's wrong?”

“It's nothin’,” James replied, looking away from me and bringing his hand up to quickly wipe away his tears. You grabbed his hand, feeling it shaking under your touch.

“Baby, don't lie, you know I’ll help you… but you gotta let me,” James pulled his hand away from you and sat up abruptly.

“I said I'm fine,” His tone was heavy with annoyance and anger as he pushed himself off the couch and stepped away from you. You quickly stood up and followed him, grabbing his arm to stop him.

“James, stop,” Your voice was stern as you stepped in front of him. His breathing was heavy, his eyes bloodshot, his pupils bigger than normal. All symptoms of a withdrawal, it was clear he was having another episode, his body desperate to fall back to his old ways, desperate to drown himself in a bottle. You wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your face in his chest, pulling him as close as possible. He didn't say anything, just buried his face into your shoulder as his body let out a heavy sob. He clutched the back of your shirt desperately as his hot tears fell against your neck. You gently rubbed your hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him. Slowly, you started to bend down, dragging his body with him as you say on the floor. Despite him being almost twice your size, you tried your hardest to pull him onto your lap, practically rocking him like a baby. Normally he would have felt humiliated by the action, but right now it was the only thing he wanted. He wanted your gentle touch, he wanted to be held as close as possible, and lastly...he wanted his mom. But he knew he couldn't have her and you rocking him was the closest he could get to the feeling of being back in his mothers touch one last time.

You both stayed like that for a while, his cries slowing down minute by minute. You picked his head up from your shoulder, your hands on either side of his face as you wiped his tears. You pulled his head down far enough to place a small kiss on his forehead.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. Another silent tear fell from his eye but you caught it before it could stream down his cheek.

“I feel so lost…” his voice was timid and horse from his crying, “I don't know what to do.” Another sob fell from his lips, causing you to pull him close again. Your hand found its way into his hair, gently scratching his scalp.

“Tell me what I can do for you baby, I just want you to feel better,” James sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve, not caring if he was getting it dirty.

“I don't know…” he admitted, his voice still quiet and broken. You thought for a second, racking your brain for ways to make him smile. You thought of your list, reminding yourself that it's his birthday.

“Well…for now I have a whole list of stuff planned for you today…are you up for any of it?” You ask gently, not knowing if he'd want to do anything or if he wants to just curl up in bed. He thought about It for a second before wiping his eyes and nodding his head. The action made your heart swell. Right now you didn't see James as who he is. Not as a metal head, not as the singer of Metallica, not even as the 40 year old man he is. But you saw him as a boy, the same boy you saw in his childhood photos. The sweet little Jamie that suffered so much but kept a smile on his face. You gently pulled yourself away from him, your body missing the warmth of his already. You stood up and held your hand out, offering to help him up, “C’mon…let's go have some fun, yeah?”

“Yeah..” he agreed softly, a small smile etching his face as he grabbed your hand. You dragged him upstairs, still determined to mark everything off of your list. You made him sit on the edge of the bed before finally speaking again.

“I had planned on waking you up this morning with something a little special…do you want that?” You suggested, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He wrapped his around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he looked up at you with desperate eyes.

“Please,” he sighed, his voice shaking. You gave him a smile, leaning forward to place a kiss on his lips. He kept you close, his fingers gripping into your sides as he desperately tasted you. The kiss was salty from his lingering tears and tasted like vanilla from your chapstick. You pulled away from him, dropping to your knees and grabbing the band on the gym shorts he slept in. He watched your every move as you pushed his shorts and boxers down. You wrapped your hand around his still soft cock, giving it a pump as it started to grow in your hand. James let out a quiet grunt as his eyes watched you, his hand made its way into your hair, playing with it gently. You look up at him and give his tip a kiss before taking him in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around him, pushing him deeper into your mouth. His desperate whimpers encourage you to keep going as your head bobbed up and down, sucking him off. His hand gripped your hair tighter as his body started to clench up. With his emotions all over the place you could tell he wasn't going to last long but you continued your movements, your hand pumping the base of his cock as your mouth tasted him.

“Oh, fuck baby, I'm gonna- oh,” James cut himself off, unable to finish his sentence as he released his load into your mouth. You pulled away from him, your salvia and his cum dripping down your chin. He moved his hand to wipe your face for you, before pulling you up into a kiss.

“Thank you,” he whispered, breathlessly. You rested your forehead against his as he pulled you into his lap, not caring that his lower half was still a sticky mess. The two of you stayed like that for a while, the room quiet as James calmed down a little.

“I love you so much,” You break the silence with your words, causing James' eyes to flutter open. He leaned forward and connected his soft lips against yours in a warm kiss.

“I love you more,” he gives you a soft smile, his hands squeezing your sides, his thumbs gently rubbing your skin through your shirt.

“Impossible,” you smile back, kissing him yet again.

✭-----------------------------✭

I have more written for this one but it was getting pretty long so let me know if any of you want a pt.2 :)

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

Thunderstorm

Matt Smith x reader

Fluff

The thunderstorm had rolled in suddenly, shaking the windows of the house with booming cracks that could make even the bravest soul flinch. Outside, the rain pounded against the roof, creating a constant drumbeat of noise. But inside the master bedroom, things were calm—or rather, they had been.

Max, as usual, was sprawled out like a miniature starfish across Matt’s chest. The four-year-old was entirely unbothered by the storm, his little chest rising and falling steadily as he snored softly. Matt lay beneath him, one arm draped protectively over Max while his other hand rested on Y/N’s hip. The two of them were dozing lightly, finding a peaceful moment amidst the chaos of parenthood. At the foot of the bed, Bobby and Billy, their two loyal dogs, were curled up in tight balls, also asleep. The scene was cozy, calm, and utterly serene.

That is, until the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the quiet.

The door burst open, and in tumbled Lilly and Jack, both looking wide-eyed and panicked. Lilly clutched her favorite blanket to her chest while Jack held his stuffed dragon like a lifeline. Another crack of thunder boomed, and Lilly let out a small squeak, racing toward the bed.

“Mummy! Daddy! It’s so loud!” she cried, scrambling up onto Y/N’s side of the bed without waiting for an invitation. Jack followed suit, crawling up from Matt’s side and nudging one of Bobby’s paws out of the way.

The commotion stirred Y/N awake first. “Hey, hey,” she murmured sleepily, sitting up slightly to make room for Lilly, who immediately latched onto her arm. “It’s just a storm, my loves. Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s scary,” Jack whispered, his voice trembling as he nestled himself under Matt’s arm. “It sounded like a monster outside.”

Another rumble of thunder shook the room, and the twins huddled closer to their parents. Matt blinked awake, instinctively tightening his arm around Jack as he groggily registered what was happening. “What’s going on?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“Storm,” Y/N whispered back, gesturing to the wide-eyed twins. “They’re scared.”

Max, of course, hadn’t moved an inch. He was still splayed out on Matt’s chest, his tiny fingers clutching the fabric of Matt’s shirt. Not even the thunder could rouse him from his slumber.

“Look at Max,” Jack said, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and frustration. “How is he not scared? It’s so loud!”

Matt smirked, now fully awake, and ruffled Jack’s hair. “That’s Max for you. Nothing bothers him—not even the end of the world.”

Bobby let out a soft huff in his sleep, shifting slightly as Billy nudged closer to him. The dogs, much like Max, were entirely unconcerned by the storm outside.

“It’s not fair,” Lilly pouted, burying her face in Y/N’s shoulder. “I wish I was brave like Max.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Y/N said, wrapping an arm around her daughter. “Being scared doesn’t mean you’re not brave. You’re here now, aren’t you? And we’ll keep you safe.”

Jack nodded solemnly. “Yeah. But can we stay here tonight? Just in case?”

Matt chuckled softly, glancing down at the increasingly crowded bed. “Looks like we don’t have much of a choice.”

The twins didn’t wait for further confirmation. Lilly snuggled in closer to Y/N, while Jack made himself comfortable against Matt’s side. Bobby and Billy shifted slightly to make room, but otherwise remained undisturbed.

“Alright, everyone,” Matt said, pulling the blanket up to cover the twins. “We’re all safe and sound. Now, try to get some sleep, okay?”

Another crack of thunder echoed outside, but this time, the twins didn’t flinch. Surrounded by their parents, their brother, and their trusty dogs, the storm didn’t feel so scary anymore.

Y/N glanced over at Matt, smiling softly as she watched him cradle Jack and Max simultaneously. “Full house tonight, huh?” she whispered.

Matt grinned, leaning over to press a kiss to her temple. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as the storm raged on outside, the family drifted off to sleep, cozied up together in the warmth of their bed.

[ohagiwrites]

✧･ﾟ:* Separation *:･ﾟ✧

characters: Jeremiah (he/him), Alastair (he/him)

TW: depictions of child abuse

Jeremiah is in the living room when he hears his mother’s scream and the crashing of glass against the tile.

His father rushes past him and Jeremiah is quick to follow, running down the hall. When he reaches the kitchen, Jeremiah’s eyes go wide.

His mother is backed into a corner, her back pressed against the cabinets, a shattered plate at her feet. She brandishes a small frying pan, holding it out in front of her as if for protection.

There’s a humanoid, inky black creature on the floor in the center of the kitchen. Shadowy tendrils spread across the floor and curl up the walls. The beast, though it seems large, has curled in on itself, a small heap on the tile. Its writhing and emitting a horrid shrieking noise — the scraping of metal against metal.

“Martha! Behind me!”

Jeremiah’s mother scrambles forward and tucks herself behind her husband. Jeremiah watches as his father rips the frying pan from her grasp and brandishes it with a trembling furiosity. He brings it down on the creature only for it to go straight through. Shadowy limbs grapple at Jeremiah’s father’s arm and he rips it away with a grunt. The dark mass around the being flickers and the shrieking turns into wailing, long and gut-wrenching.

Jeremiah steps past his mother with narrowed eyes as the entity cowers, echoing its beastly sobs. In a moment of horrific clarity, Jeremiah’s eyes widen.

“Alastair?”

The creature stills. Suddenly, there’s two white spheres amidst the black, looking up at him. Jeremiah takes another step forward and the shadows flicker and shrink back slightly.

“Jeremiah, step back,” his father barks.

Jeremiah doesn’t tear his gaze away from his little brother. “You hit him. You know it’s Alastair and you hit him.”

“Jeremiah I said get away!”

Jeremiah doesn’t heed his father’s words, stumbling forward to kneel beside his brother. His arms pass through shadow on his first attempt to grab Alastair but the second time, he finds purchase and then he’s pulling his little brother in, tucking the boy into his chest.

The room goes quiet, inhuman cries stifled by the fabric of Jeremiah’s shirt. The black tendrils seep back into Alastair’s skin and uncover the boy. He looks normal again.

Alastair snuffles and Jeremiah tries to pull away enough to look down at the shaking boy. Alastair’s grip is too tight and he doesn’t release. Jeremiah sighs and sinks into the embrace again.

“Jeremiah. Back away.” His father’s voice is stern and heavy now.

“You hit him,” he bites back.

Before he can say anything else, there’s a jolt and then Alastair is being ripped from his embrace. Jeremiah’s father has an iron grip around Alastair’s bicep and another hand balled up in the back of his shirt as he drags him away.

Alastair cries out in pain and squirms in a vain effort to escape. The tears that roll down his cheeks are fat and never-ending as Alastair reaches a small hand through the air towards Jeremiah.

“Dad stop!” Jeremiah says as he scrambles to his feet.

“Be quiet son,” his mother snaps, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Alastair. Her gaze makes something nauseating swell up in Jeremiah. She looks at Alastair in disgust, disdain, as if he’s some monster.

“Mom,” Jeremiah pleads as Alastair sobs and kicks and calls Jeremiah’s name. “Make Dad stop. Please. He’s hurting him.” Tears of frustration are building up in Jeremiah’s own eyes as his mother simply turns up her nose.

Jeremiah scowls and starts down the hallway, chasing after his father and Alastair. He pulls at his dad’s arms and smacks his hands, trying to pry his fingers from around Alastair’s thin, already bruising arm. “Dad, let go! Stop it!”

“Jeremiah, enough,” his father snaps, jerking away from him.

Alastair is screaming now as their father releases his shirt to open his bedroom door. He pulls and kicks, his cheeks red and his eyes swollen. “Jeremiah, please!” he whimpers in a begging voice as Jeremiah lets out a sob of his own.

He curls his hands into weak fists and pounds against his dad’s back. “Stop! Let him go! Dad, you’re hurting him,” he demands, the cracking in his voice squashing any intimidation that might’ve come with his words.

With one rough hand, his father shoves him back. “Jeremiah. That is enough. Go comfort your mother. She’s clearly upset about this.”

Jeremiah opens his mouth, a protest prepared on his tongue when his father yanks at Alastair, jerking him through the air and tossing him to the floor of the bedroom. Alastair makes a wounded sound and Jeremiah scrambles forward just as his father slams the door, locking Alastair inside.

Jeremiah can hear sobbing on the other side — pleads for forgiveness and apologies broken up by hiccups.

“Alastair!” Jeremiah pounds on the door. A heavy hand grips his shoulder and tears him away from it.

“Boy! I said go! Now I don’t want you talking to that thing anymore!” his father practically shouts.

Thing. His father called Alastair a thing. Jeremiah wipes his tears with a clenched fist and scowles up at the man. “He’s your son,” he says in a harsh whisper. “How could you call him that? He’s your son!” he screams, voice breaking pathetically.

Jeremiah’s father just stares down at him. “We aren’t going to talk about this right now.”

Jeremiah leans back against the door and thunks his head against it, still able to hear Alastair bawling on the other side as his father stalks back down the hallway.

~

Weeks pass. Weeks of Jeremiah listening to his parents speak in hushed voices in the other room, urgently discussing what they’re going to do with ‘It’. Weeks of his father storming down the hallway and hurriedly opening the door for just long enough to shove a plate of scraps through the gap before slamming it shut again.

Jeremiah’s father won’t let his mother get near that door. He tells Jeremiah not to either but that doesn’t stop him.

He pushes whatever he can fit under the crack between the door and the floor. Sometimes it’s small rocks he knows Alastair will like, sometimes it’s flowers. Most of the time it’s notes and drawings.

Alastair will occasionally slip the note back to him with a little note of his own on it, full of scratched out words and sentences and accompanied by a bunch of little doodles. More often however, Alastair will keep the notes and whisper under the door that he’s going to use it to make a bird or an insect.

Paper sculptures are a new interest Alastair has developed since being locked away.

Jeremiah wishes he could see what his brother has made.

~

With his parents gone for Adult Worship, Jeremiah takes the opportunity to lounge in the hallway, lying on his back on the floor, looking up at the ceiling.

He talks about anything and everything he can think of. Sometimes Alastair will offer a hum in response but he usually stays silent.

After a long stretch of silence that Jeremiah doesn’t know how to fill with unimportant ramblings, he sighs.

“Alastair.” A beat. “I miss you.”

Jeremiah tries not to be embarrassed about the way his voice catches on almost every syllable.

He’s met with silence and closes his eyes in an effort to ignore the little wet droplets that begin to trail down his temples.

A few more seconds pass and then there’s a shuffling and the sound of a paper being slid under the door. Jeremiah turns towards the door and grabs the paper, holding it up above his face to look at.

It’s a little picture of two clumsily drawn boys, the shorter one presenting what looks like a worm to the taller one as the taller pats his head.

“I miss you,” comes a small voice from under the door.

Jeremiah presses the drawing to his chest and covers his mouth so Alastair doesn’t hear the pained noise that leaves him.

“Jeremiah.”

Turning his head to the door again, Jeremiah sees small, slender fingers poking out from under the door. They make a wiggling motion and Jeremiah isn’t able to hide his sob this time as it mixes with a laugh.

Jeremiah smiles sadly and puts his hand over the small fingers, squeezing them tightly.

He really misses Alastair.

[fortheloveofarchons]

Let’s wear Xianzhou outfits and not tell Caelus

Special mention to @uniqua-2273 on tumblr for giving me a puff of motivation to finish this chapter!

Inspired by @b02owo on Twitter (X) and also @not_update_2.0 on Instagram go and check out their amazing Dancae artworks!!!!

C.W.

Chapter is written before version 2.4 of H:SR update

Fluff and humour

Caelus being a menace

Dan Heng being a softie

March 7th appears

Pom-Pom and Welt Yang mentioned

.

.

.

“You are the worst best friend ever, March 7th! I hate you!!” 

Caelus cries out loud, completely cocooned in March 7th’s large, soft blanket, covering his entire body on her bed. The weight of his emotions presses heavily on him, and he pulls the blanket tighter around himself, seeking solace in its warmth and security. His body was curled into a tight ball beneath the layers, his face completely hidden from view, only the faint sound of his loud, muffled sobs breaking the silence. 

“For the love of Aeons– Caelus! Get out of my bed!!” March 7th shouts at the large, pink cocoon, where Caelus hides himself in there. March tightly grips the fabric of the blanket, and immediately tries to pull it out of Caelus’s grasp. 

But Caelus didn’t budge. Instead, he clutches the blanket even more tightly, his fingers gripping the fabric as if it were a lifeline.

“LET GO CAELUS!!!” 

“YOU KNOW WHAT RHYMES WITH THE WORD ‘BETRAYER’?!?! NEVERRRRRR!!!!!” 

Such a clear sign that the trailblazer wasn’t ready to emerge from his makeshift fortress. 

With Caelus’s strength besting her, March 7th could only stop pulling the blanket as a sign of defeat, feeling her arms and fingers sore from all of the pulling. An archer and swordswoman can only go so far as to obtain agility, but not strength. 

Yunli would digress, but Yanqing would agree. 

Getting the train conductor Pom-Pom angry would be a huge risk if the blanket was ripped off. 

Puffing out large breaths, all March 7th could do was to walk out of the room in resignation, the door sliding open for her. 

Coincidentally, she finds someone outside waiting for them. 

“Dan Heng?” March 7th asks. “What are you doing over here?” 

“I heard screaming.” Dan Heng answers, his eyebrows drop low over his eyes as he tries to understand the situation. “While Pom-Pom was busy fixing up the omni-synthesiser with Mr. Yang, I decided to come and find what the ruckus is all about. Best not to enrage Pom-Pom with your loud noises and settle this as soon as possible, after all.” 

Dan Heng tilts his head a bit to the right, seeing through the wide, open gap of the door is a large pink cocoon. 

“...I’m assuming that’s Caelus on the bed?” 

“Uhh… you mean my bed!” March 7th corrects him, puffing her cheeks in frustration. “Ever since I’ve been wearing this outfit that Master Yunli brought for me, Caelus has been giving me the bombastic side-eye whenever we go out! When I confronted him about it, all he did was just whine and cry and complain– and then proceed to jump onto my bed and wrap his whole body with my blanket! Now, he won’t even get out of my room!” 

The bells that hang around March’s double bun bows ring and clink in response to her frustration. 

Dan Heng could only let out a sigh so long that March thought that his soul was going to get extracted. Truly a normal day in the Astral Express. 

“I’ll go and talk to him.” 

Dan Heng presses the button, and the door slides completely open, revealing Caelus tightly bundled up in a thick, cocoon-like blanket. Only a tuft of dishevelled silver hair peeks out from the bottom. The rest of the blanket is pulled up over his head, leaving his face hidden. 

Without a word, all Dan Heng could do was to sit at the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He reaches out, his hand hovering just above the blanket, unsure if his touch will be welcomed or rejected. He’s being careful to not attack the beast, but to tame it. 

“Caelus?” He gently pats the blanket. 

All Dan Heng gets is a soft sniff in response. 

“Are you okay? You haven’t eaten breakfast since this morning, and I heard the commotion so…” 

Caelus shifts slightly, but he doesn’t turn or speak. The air in the room is thick with frustration and sadness. Dan Heng could see the outline of Caelus’s hands clutching tightly under the blanket, white-knuckled and tense. 

“Go away.” Caelus finally speaks out. “Get out of my room.”

“...You know that this is March’s room, right?” 

“If you’re here to convince me to come out, I won’t. You and March 7th… are all betrayers to me!!” 

“Betray?” Dan Heng’s eyes glared at this information before him, frustration evident in his eyes. “Caelus, please elaborate on that. Just what exactly do you mean by this?” 

“You are March both have customised Xianzhou outfits!” Caelus finally explains, his mind trying to block out the images of his friends in their Xianzhou outfits, and how the comparison gnaws at him. “You guys didn’t tell me that! Do you know how left out and inadequate I felt?!”  

Imaginary crows caw at the distance upon hearing Caelus’s reasons. 

“...That’s it? Just because you didn’t get to wear a special Xianzhou outfit?” Dan Heng clarifies the situation once more. 

“Uh, duh!!” Caelus replies, rolling his eyes under the blanket. “It's not my fault you've been travelling longer than I have. Same goes for March! Of course you two would be this close to the point of wearing matching Xianzhou outfits… I feel as lonely and left out as Mr. Yang.” 

Dan Heng could’ve sworn he heard a loud sneeze in the distance. 

Dan Heng combs the back of his hair with his hand, half-relieved that he could finally know what Caelus’s motives are, but also half-frustrated that Caelus would cause such a ruckus because of something like this. Still, Dan Heng could understand how it feels to be left out. From the moment he chose to not join them in Penacony, most of his life was spent covering his body with his blanket, the faint glow of his phone screen casting a soft light in the dimly lit archives room. He remembers how as hours ticked by, his eyes would always flicker over to the messages on his phone, filled with photos and videos captured by his friends from places in Penacony. 

He remembers how the pang of loneliness would often hit him, sharp and unexpected. Like the crimson sword that Blade stabbed him right in the chest. 

Seeing Caelus like this… only made Dan Heng understand where he’s coming from. 

“Caelus, how about you borrow one of my outfits?”

Immediately, the sniffling stops.  

“R– Really…?” Caelus enquiries, hiccupping his words. “Could I really wear them?” 

“Well, yeah.” Unexpectedly, the idea of Caelus wearing his clothes feels oddly intimate. He did not notice how his cheeks flushed a light pink as he continued his sentences. 

Dan Heng clears his throat, trying to muster a casual tone. “I don’t have a lot of Xianzhou clothes, so you can either pick my usual outfit, or the outfit I’d wear as Imbibitor Lunae–”

“Give me your Imbibitor Lunae skin!!” Caelus exclaims, already popping out from under the blanket, his face breaking into a wide, cheeky grin. 

Dan Heng almost jumped from the bed, his body tensing due to Caelus’s unexpected enthusiasm. One of March’s plushies was pushed away by Dan Heng’s surprise, landing on the floor with a small thud. 

But that moment immediately simmers down when Dan Heng notices that there are no red lines under Caelus’s eyes. 

“I… Weren’t you crying just a few minutes ago?”

“Doesn’t matter!” Caelus reaches out to Dan Heng with his hand, gesturing for him to hand him that outfit. “Give me that skin right now!” 

“...Please don’t call my outfit as a ‘skin’.” 

[kaynanarie]

JourneyTober! Day 12 - Underworld (Stone)

            Things were not going the way Monkey had planned. Arriving at Black Wind Mountain had been challenging, an expectation for the journey ahead. Then everything got complicated when the human showed up.

            The human Tudigong had tasked him with protecting. The human that chattered nonstop in words he couldn’t understand. The human that started following him around like a baby duck with just as much survival instincts. The human that he now watched struggle to even light a basic campfire.

            Whatever flame conjuring twigs she had used the previous nights were now gone. Rubbing sticks together had been her first attempt, quickly growing frustrated and tired in her efforts. Next had been rocks which she smashed together in a poor attempt at fire-starting.

            After nearly an hour, she shouted in frustration and hurled one of the rocks at a nearby tree, pieces scattering as it hit the trunk. Even with limited strength behind the throw, her aim was mildly impressive. She let the other stone fall to the ground before curling up in a ball, arms hugging her legs and face tucked into her knees. The quiet sniffing that followed immediately put Monkey on edge.

            Their first night traveling together she had cried, her quiet sobs nearly masked by the crackling of the fire and the hum of the surrounding forest. Monkey could only listen, unsure what to do, until exhaustion finally pulled her into a fretful sleep. The next morning, she was cheerful and talkative as ever but the shadows under her eyes were testament to her hidden stress. It had taken days but she had reached her breaking point again and this time, Monkey was compelled to do something about it.

            He jumped down from the tree he had been perched in, the human not even reacting to the noise. Shuffling around camp, Monkey scanned the ground, brushing leaves aside and overturning rocks until he found what he was searching for.

            The human was still huddling in on herself when he crouched down beside her, nudging her shoulder till she lifted her head. Her face was red and wet with tears, eyes overflowing as they looked at him curiously. Monkey pried one of her hands loose and placed a stone in it.

            She stared at him, then the stone, then back at him blankly. He huffed, pointing to the kindling and back at the rock. When the human glanced the unlit fire, her tears returned. Equally frustrated and slightly panicked, Monkey took the stone back and grabbed the folding knife she kept in her strange bag. He waved a hand to regain her attention and demonstrated the stone hitting metal before handing both to her.

            Still confused, she took the items and copied his motions, gasping when a tiny spark leapt from the impact. Realization lit up her face and the tiny smile that followed lifted a heaviness from Monkey’s chest. He readjusted her grip, her hands tiny and delicate in his grasp, before aiming the sparks into the nest of kindling. The instant they started to smolder, he blew on them, directing her to do the same and soon, a tiny flame appeared. Small twigs were slowly added and the fire grew, bringing light to the camp just as the sun began to set.

            As they sat side by side, the human muttered something, hands fiddling with the flint stone. Monkey still couldn’t decipher her words but they sounded grateful. He nodded in response, enjoying the warmth that warded off the uncertain darkness and brought the two of them together in comforting peace.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------(Another replacement prompt and another one close to catching up. This one takes place pretty early in the overall narrative. Thanks to anyone that bothers to read. I'm still trying to make these despite not being very good.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Journeytober Master List

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/756204827274625025/ive-had-to-deal-with-people-in-a-couple-of-my

Yeah one obnoxious thing I’ve noticed in those kinds of Discords is that people will so often bring up the specter of “disability” or “neurodivergence” to defend an oversensitive person who curls into a ball or cries or claims triggers, but never someone who deals with that by getting angry or aggressive in defending their points. Never mind that not only are there are a ton of neurodivergent people in the second group, but if anything it’s the more stereotypical behavior associated with some very common neurodivergences like autism.

(Is this a problem of too many people online claiming to be autistic who clearly don’t have it? Not just being self diagnosed which is fine and can be based on actual diagnostic criteria, but I’ve noticed more and more people who claim it who just don’t seem to fit ANY of the criteria for it and I think they’re confusing people about what autism and such really look like)

Even people who are themselves autistic people who tend more toward the aggressive rather than sad and uwu (and sometimes tbh passive aggressive) response, were lining up behind this person and making those arguments!

This person does that every time they’re ever criticized even slightly and in this case, it was for a racist micro aggression. It was infuriating to watch supposedly progressive people decide what they cared most about was drying the white tears, and instead refocus the conversation on the supposed ableism of someone telling her “I know you likely didn’t mean harm by this, but this is something POC hear a lot and is frustrating because” like in the nicest way they possibly could. I really think fandom spaces full of white neurodivergent people need to do better at acknowledging the privileges they DO have and asking themselves if they don’t prefer to have social justice conversations only when it can frame themselves as oppressed.

--

[bvnniixs]

‘call out my name.’

keigo takami x f!reader

villain reader

warnings: smut, straight into it, smut without a plot, rough, breeding, creampie. got lazy when writing warnings just expect smut , drunk sex , slight angst

She knew it was a bad idea, coming out to drink with him. He was apart of the liberation army now, so she had to get used to him. Despite him being a whole ass hero trying to act villain. It frustrated her, he frustrated her. Now he was balls deep in her, skin slapping echoed through the room in her apartment. “so good.” his voice groaned out, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy. He was hovered above her, hands gripping her hips like no tomorrow. Digging his nails into her skin. She called out his name, moaning it multiple times as his brutal thrusts continued. “fuck..hawks!” she cried out, calling specifically his hero name since she of course didn’t know his real one. “that’s it baby..call out my name” his soothing voice cooed softly, straight into her ear. It made butterflies flutter in her stomach, why was he making her feel such things. She bit down on her lip, hard. Hard enough to draw blood as he pounded into her, the way his wings looked at he fucked her just turned her on even more in a way. The way he puffed his chest out, huffing as he thrusted. Her arms remained around his neck, moving them down eventually to dig her nails into his bare skin. A groan left his lips as her nails dug into his skin, leaving marks.

After a minute or so he pulled out, leaving her empty. “wha..” she breathed out, wondering why he had stopped. Until he flipped her over onto her stomach, a small gasp left her lips as he did so. He took her hips and lifted them up, without warning he thrusted back into her wet cunt. The sounds being lewd, and loud. He was close. So so close. But he couldn’t cum, not now. Not until his sweet angel finished first. “you gonna cum for daddy?” he asked as he pounded into her. She nodded her head the best she could, before he shoved her face into the bed sheets. Allowing her to move her head ever so slightly to the side so she could breathe. He was ruthless with his thrust, the sound of his balls slapping on her wet cunt filled the room once again. She was so close, so so close. she gripped the bedsheets below her, curled her toes and rolled her eyes back as she felt herself being fucked so hard. “cum for me baby~” he practically sang, and that was all she needed to hear. She released like never before, he hit all the right spots which caused her to basically lose control. She came hard, her walls clenching down on his cock as she came around him. “cumming!” she cried out, her grip on the bedsheets only tightened more. “that’s a good girl..” he said with a smirk, he didn’t stop there. He continued to thrust even after she came, overstimulating her ultimately. “fuck..gonna give you my babies…” his voice cooed again, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he was close to his climax. “fuck baby..” he whimpered out, she felt so fucking good. So warm, so tight. It was like she was made for him. He thrusted more until he finished, shooting his seed deep into her. Filling her up. She gasped as she felt his pump his hot seed inside her, definitely need a plan b now.

He pulled out after a minute or so, slowly as he huffed and leaned down on her. “fuck..” he breathed out, his pants growing as he flopped besides her. She hummed in satisfaction, looking at the male while remains on her stomach. She didn’t move, at least not yet. “i’ll clean you up baby..just gimme a second.” he whispered as he laid there, catching his breath. After five minutes he got up, retrieving napkins for her he clean her up the best he could and threw them out after. He held her up and laid her down comfortably, laying besides her soon after. The two remained silent there for moments before she spoke up. “I think i can tolerate you better now.” she laughed softly, he returned the laugh. Looking to his side where she was, he smiled softly. “good..” he replied.

-

keigos pov

Ever since the two had their encounter, they had grown closer together over the past few days, weeks. They were friends with benefits, nothing more. Besides, They had reputations. They couldn’t ruin their reputations for something more..but it wasn’t anything more. It wasn’t? It was nothing, it meant nothing. Right?..right?

-

a/n: i’m alive 🙏🏼

[princess-tulip-writes]

Heyaa! I was reading your azriel x bimbo reader stuff and I was wondering if you could do the same sort of thing but with Cassie? I just feel like he’d thrive with a dumb little mate who cares more about her lipgloss than knowing how to read 😩😩I can just imagine Cassian trying to calm reader down after throwing a temper tantrum because of a bad hair day or running out of her fav perfume😂😂 btw I love your writing! It gives me life, whenever I’m sad I’ll come and read your fics and it immediately cheers me up ily! 💞💞

i think i'm going to make an actually imagine out of this one! i hope that's okay :)

it was the most monday of all mondays; you woke up late without a kiss goodbye from cassian, the overnight curlers in your hair didn't work correctly, there wasn't enough tea left for your morning cup and your lash glue refused to dry. it was already two in the afternoon, yet you were still hunched over your vanity trying to get ready for the day with frustrated tears leaking down your cheeks, leaving a black mascara streak in it's wake– which only made you cry harder.

by two thirty, you were a hysterical puddle on your bedroom floor, hoping your mate would arrive home soon to take care of you and fix everything like he always had.

a hiccuped sob fell past your lips as you analyzed a strand of the flat curls, discouraged that the hair you had planned the night before didn't work out, and your heart dropped at the reality.

"i wanted to look pretty today." you whined to yourself.

teary eyed, you looked up at the messy vanity, taking in the scattered makeup that covered surface and sighed deeply at the sight. the last thing you wanted to do right now was clean, let alone in front of a mirror to be reminded of your crappy appearance.

so instead, you stayed put, curled up in a little ball as you cried until your mate came home.

a gust of wind breezed against your back, the bare skin raising goosebumps as you shiver softly.

it had been hours now since you got up or did anything other than cry and hug yourself tightly, seeking the comfort from something other than the empty house. but now, you could feel it, could feel him close by and your bond sung happily inside of your chest.

heavy footsteps sounded from downstairs, and you knew the sound all too well.

"i'm home, sweetheart."

you sniffled as you stood on wobbling legs, anxious to just run into his huge arms and cry to him to fix everything.

"where are you, pretty girl?"

the sound of loud steps echoed through the halls as cassian made his way upstairs, guessing that if you didn't greet him at the door, you were busy doing something else in the bedroom– most likely touching up your makeup or hair.

"in–" hiccup. "here."

he frowned at the fragile state of your voice and his wings hung ever so slightly behind him as he formulated a plan to solve whatever it was that you needed, no matter how difficult.

you stayed put standing at the edge of the bed shyly as your tears continued falling freely down your flushed face as he neared the room, his heavy feet quickly stomping into the hallway.

within moments, cassian's broad figure appeared in the doorway, sweaty from training with a soft furrow in his brow as he took in your shaking body.

"princess, what's wrong?" he asked gently.

he stepped into the room without hesitation and immediately made his way to you. the second his rough hands caressed your wet cheeks as he attempted to direct your eye contact to his own, you couldn't help it and you threw yourself into his chest, letting it all out for him as his arms wrapped around you tightly and rested his chin on your head in comfort.

"it's okay, baby." he soothed, stroking the top of your head gently as he spoke into your hair. "i'll fix it, don't worry. everything'll be okay."

"b-b-but, my ha-ir is ruined."

cassian fought back a chuckle at your lack of faith that he could once again, fix your hair. it seemed that no matter how many times he had doctored up failed attempts, you always assumed they couldn't be helped. how adorable, he thought.

"oh, it's not that bad." he said. "just needs a little help perking up, is all. i could fix it in no time."

you sniffled as your sobs slowed down at his reassurance, and you glanced at his face momentarily.

"r-really?" you asked, and it took everything in the male not to kiss your raw cheeks until you shooed him off. "you really think it's not that ba-d?"

he smiled and nodded before taking a strand between his fingers, stroking the soft bunch with his thumb softly.

"nah, you could actually just wear it like this to dinner and no one would be able to tell; not even mor." he was lying of course, the second in command would definitely be able to notice, but you didn't have to be aware of that.

you sniffled once more before slightly lifting your head off of his chest in hope. the new position caused you to get a clear look at his face and the string connecting your souls pulsed at the sight of him. a faint smile grazed his lips at the shared feeling down the bond as he finally gazed into your teary eyes.

"you-you promise?"

cassian chuckled softly, the rumble of his chest vibrating against your cheek, although the feeling felt safe to you– like home.

"i promise, my princess." he said before placing a soft kiss to your crown. "always."