#what is wrong w him (affectionate)

[bl0ssom-skies]

Why r u so goofy old man

[darkcandy-starfait]

MINOR ISH CHAPTER 4 SPOILERS!!!!!

I adore that Noelle has a cactus in her room named "Krismas", the same nickname her and her dad use for Kris.

Adore even more that Berdly calls that cactus "Tsuntsun"... like tsundere...

I know that's just Berdly being Berdly, but the implication that he's calling Kris a tsundere is so fucking funny to me

[xxlady-lunaxx]

..how did genya figure out he can eat demons tho like sanemi figured out his blood bc of his mother but genya?-

like did he have some midnight craving for demons and just go w it 😭

[itissadbutitsmy-artblog]

drew a bunch of pictures of spader like hmmhmmhmmm hes so doggycore and then six hours later i was like. wait:

canon dogboy

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

Fukase: I gotta ask..is linguistics something to do with linguine?

Flower: ....its about language.

Fukase: Oh.

^ thought that i had someday. idk. im handing it to you cuz it got precisely 1 note on my blog :/

[chisungie]

.

[mylove-thresher]

Philip Lombard you fucking freak

[simpforboys]

more frat!perv!manipulator!rafe who is still obsessed w topper’s dumb gf

warnings: groping, manipulating, ditsy/dumb/innocent!reader, handjob, praise, cheating, kissing, brief thigh humping

thank you for 6,000 friends <33

series masterlist

It shouldn’t have surprised Rafe, really. Topper is your boyfriend, after all.

But when Rafe walked in on you sitting on Topper’s lap, giggling at some compilation of cats doing funny things, it irritated Rafe more than anything.

“Hi, Rafey.” You greet him warmly, your pretty eyes flicking up to see his cold blue ones.

“Hey, sweetness.” Rafe murmurs, although he doesn’t look at you like he typically does. He just hated being around you and Topper together, when you were so affectionate, knowing that you were with his best friend and not him.

“How was class, man?” Topper asks, his hand absentmindedly running up and down your crossed legs. You were only wearing some leggings and a crop top, a more casual afternoon.

“S’fine.” Rafe grunts, taking off his snapback and running a hand through his hair.

He moved over to his twin xl and hopped up on it, his back against the pillow as he propped himself up on an elbow and started scrolling on his phone, trying desperately to block out you sitting on Topper’s lap.

“You don’t wanna watch cat videos with us, Rae?” You ask, turning to look at the tall man who is lying with his thighs spread out a bit.

“‘m good,” he replies shortly.

You frown, but before you could even think about going back to watching the cute kitties, Topper was patting your thigh.

“I gotta go do somethin’, babe. I���ll be back in like twenty minutes.”

You hum, getting off your boyfriend’s lap as he stood up. You gave Topper a small peck, watching as he grabbed his wallet and keys, before uttering a “goodbye” to you and Rafe.

You turned, looking at Rafe. His eyes were already on you, a slight snarl on his lips.

“Are you okay, Rafey?” You ask, moving to the side of his lifted bed.

Rafe stares at you for a minute, not saying anything, the throbbing his cock is feeling against his jeans too distracting.

You poked his meaty thigh, feeling upset for your friend that he was feeling so down.

“Y’know what could make me feel better, sweet girl?” He hummed, a twisted idea forming in his mind as he turned his phone off and set it down on the bed.

“Hm?”

“A kiss.” He says bluntly, blue eyes fixated on the sight of your tummy poking out from the hem of the crop top and waistband of the leggings.

You just smile, leaning over to peck his cheek. You weren’t a stranger to giving Rafe kisses on the cheek or forehead, or him doing the same.

He grabbed your wrist before you could pull away, though. “Not there, baby.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

He had to internally roll his eyes. That stupid pout and look of confusion only made his cock harder.

Stupid girl.

“A real kiss, sweetness.”

You pondered it, lips still in a small pout. Your insides twisted, a weird feeling in your heart and tummy.

“I dunno, Rafe…”

“C’mon, pretty girl. S’jus’ me, yeah? Y’know only you can make me feel better.” He convinced, trying to resist the urge to just push his lips onto yours.

You went silent for a moment, just staring at him, looking unsure.

“We’re not doin’ anythin’ wrong, Y/n. You’re jus’ tryna cheer me up, ain’t that right?”

You let out a small huff, but nod. You did wanna cheer up Rafe, it killed you whenever he got so upset.

You leaned over the bed, his big hand moving to your thigh to help pull you up until you were almost hovering over the side of his body.

He kept his hand on your thigh, squeezing it a bit, feeling precum leak from his aching tip as he licked his own lips.

You both leaned in, him a bit too eagerly, you a bit too cautiously.

Your lips collided, and Rafe immediately took control and dominance. He hums into it, his left hand moving to the back of your neck, so you can’t pull away.

You had to put your hand on his thigh to keep yourself upright, which in response, he let out a small moan into the kiss.

His kisses were different than Topper’s. Topper was controlled, slow, sweet, gentle.

Rafe was desperate, dominant, rough, lustful.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, trying not to bust in his underwear when your tongue slid against his. He could still sense your hesitation, and it annoyed the hell out of him.

His right palm left your thigh, lifting your crop top up a bit as it shamelessly groped your tit through your bra. He felt you huff through your nose against his, and he couldn’t help but buck his hips up a bit.

“Mhm— you okay?”

You pull away, feeling him buck. You panted a bit, your lips swollen, as you looked down at his waistline.

“‘m jus’ feelin’ so needy, sweetness. Can ya help me?” He asks, giving you those puppy dog eyes.

The blue irises were just a weakness — no matter who had them.

“Um…” You hesitated, face warm. But then he took your palm and placed it on his clothed bulge, letting you feel how hard he is.

Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, Rafe was already unbuttoning the jeans, the words Lucky You embroidered. He pushed them down just enough, along with his navy blue boxer briefs, for his raging hard-on to stand out.

A small noise left you, one that caused more precum to leak from the dark pink mushroom tip.

“Ya trust me, yeah?” He hums, caressing your cheek.

You hesitantly nodded, eyes locked onto the big dick. Topper’s wasn’t this big… it was like the ones you see in porn.

He had to hide the devilish smirk on his lips as he spit on his own hand and guided it down to his throbbing shaft. “Gimme your hand, sweetness.”

Your hand shook as you held it out for him, a heat pooling in your tummy when your palm and fingers wrapped around him.

“Now move it up ‘n down… jus’ like that…”

He coos, throwing his head back a little as you began to hesitantly, and curiously, stroke his cock.

His big hand went back up to grope your tit, feeling the soft flesh as you continued to jerk him off, thinking you were just helping him.

You may be Topper’s girlfriend, but Rafe knew you were his dumb helper.

“S’good, pretty girl… makin’ Rafey feel good…”

He’s already trying desperately not to cum, but the way you were stuck staring at his erection, like it baffled your innocent brain was quickly sending him to the edge.

“I-is this right, Rafey?” You choke out.

“Mhmm… it feels right, ain’t it?” He groans, pulling you in for another sloppy kiss.

He starts to thrust up into your hand, soft moans and whimpers leaving him.

But what really sent him over the edge was when he saw you start to grind your clothed cunt on his thigh, completely oblivious to your own needs, distracted on helping him.

“F-fuck… keep goin’ baby, don’t stop—“

He grunts, panting as his warm seed spills all over your hand. Rafe’s head is still thrown back against his pillow, those pretty blue eyes half lidded as he stared at your face.

“You’re a good girl, baby… such a good girl f’me.”

He murmurs, pulling you forward to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

[nosyp]

Twst Third Years reacting to someone else calling you 'honey' or 'sweetheart'

First Years | Second years

A/N = Likes, reblogs and comments r apprecaieted btw!

Trey Clover

He raises an eyebrow. Like what did he just say?

“Honey? Sweetheart? That's a little forward, don’t you think?”

Gives the person a polite but firm smile, subtly stepping closer to you.

HE WILL try to keep things calm but is lowkey plotting how to make sure that never happens again. Like you should probably... do something about him.

BUT in private, he’ll ask you if you’re okay with it, but also makes sure to remind you he’s got your back.

Cater Diamond

He laughs at first, but the playful glint in his eyes slowly shift into something more possessive.

“Oh? So you think you’re that close to (Y/N)?”

Gives the person a teasing grin before pulling you closer to him.

“You know, I think I’m the only one who gets to call them that. So how about we leave the nicknames to me, yeah?”

When alone with you, he’s definitely more affectionate but might joke about it a bit more.

Leona Kingscholar

Glares at the person, his face darkening in the process.

“The hell did you just call them?” he scowls.

He doesn’t hold back. His tone DRIPPING with irritation.

“You’ve got some nerve. Back off, they’re mine.”

Will pull you closer to him, practically growling if the person doesn’t get the hint.

Vil Schoenheit

Freezes for a moment, then smiles, but it’s far from a kind smile. It's more of... getoutofmyfacebeforeismackyouintotomorrow typa smile.

“How cute, you think you’re that familiar with them.”

Casually places a hand on your shoulder, making sure the other person notices how close you two are.

His voice is laced with poison: “I think you should stick to more formal terms. After all, you’re not exactly their type.” ouch that kinda hurts.

Vil keeps it classy but is definitely claiming you in his own way. He's probably not gonna let you out of his sight after this.

Rook Hunt

He simply... smirks. He's entertained. He's slightly enjoying this... but of course with a possessive glint in his eyes.

“Oh? Honey, you say? You’re a bit too forward for my liking.”

Leans in close to you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“(Y/N) belongs to me, in a way that no one else can even dream of.”

He loves the tension it creates, and you can expect him to be a lot more possessive afterward.

Idia Shroud

His face turns red, and he freezes up.

'W-Wait, honey? Who the hell do they think they are?' his mind races.

You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears as he starts muttering to himself, fidgeting nervously. He's like a kettle about to BURST.

'I-I don’t like it when other people call them that! I get to call them cute names, okay?' he thinks to himself.

He doesn’t show it on the outside, but internally, he’s definitely marking his territory.

He tries to listen in on the conversation to know more about him for... reasons. AND goodluck to his online reputation cuz it's gonna be non-existent or absolutely ruined in a matter of seconds.

Malleus Draconia

Stares at the person, unblinking.

“Did you just refer to them as honey?”

His voice is calm, but his eyes have a dangerous glint.

Steps closer to you, his presence overwhelming.

“No one else has the right to address them that way. They belong to me.”

Will silently observe, but you’ll feel his possessive nature once the clouds start getting dark and raindrops fall from the sky. Then the air around you seems to shift, heavy with his unspoken claim.

Lilia Vanrouge

He chuckles, but his tone is laced with amusement and something more.

“Oh? Sweetheart, you say? How bold of you, but I think you’ve got it wrong.”

Laughs to himself and then ruffles your hair affectionately.

“(Y/N) is mine, so maybe you should pick a more appropriate nickname.”

While playful on the surface, you can feel the possessive edge in his words.

A/N = I love third years the most tbh

[bluukive]

- ᡣ𐭩 Home is Where the Heart is

summary - What's more endearing than your affectionate husband? Your drunk, affectionate husband.

warnings - none, minus Satoru being a little snotty whilst crying. First proper attempt at a short fluff fic !! Kinda proofread (n idk how being drunk works lolol)

wc - 1044

It’s been exactly 23 minutes since your bumbling oaf of a husband came back home from a night out. After all, even the strongest needed some time to unwind. 

The front door slammed shut and a loud crash followed. It was most likely his gangling body colliding with the coat rack. Again. 

A groan. “W-who put thaaaat there?” he whined, long legs dragging all the way up the stairs. Too many of them, Satoru thought. He should probably hollow purple them all later. But only later, because right now? His lower lip was wobbling and there was a dull pain in his arm from crashing into the bedroom door. It swung open once he had a good grip on the handle, and alas, the tears started to fall. 

Satoru trudged over to the king-sized bed, not bothering to kick his shoes off. 

“I miss my b-bitchass wife,” Satoru sniffled, drunken words muffled by the increasingly sodden pillow that he had buried his face into. His heart ached terribly. How did anyone expect him to live without the love of his life beside him?

Satoru honestly thought he’d die without hearing your voice, so he fumbled about for his phone in one of the pockets of his tweed jacket once he was able to prop himself up on an elbow (trust your boyfriend to make the most questionable fashion choices). The intoxicated look in his eyes and the rosy cheeks would have been adorable if not for the fact that his nose was running from all of the dramatics, but Satoru couldn’t bring himself to care. With a quick wipe of his sleeve, his long, sluggish fingers went to work. 

Ring. Ring.

“Heeeeey gorgeous-”

“This isn’t your wife, Satoru. Wrong number.”

Click. 

Somewhere in the city, a tired sorcerer was exhaling out of his nose and clenching his jaw. How awkward.

Again, Satoru scrolled through his contact list with bleary eyes. Fuck, where were you?

Suguru? Not it. 

Shoko? Nah.

Mei Mei? Fuck no. He’d rather deepthroat a cactus than be associated with her, as he so loved to remind you frequently. 

But finally! ‘Wifey’, the contact name read. Satoru sniffed and tried pulling himself together before pressing ‘ring’, a giddy look in his twinkling blue eyes. The eager pants that left his lungs fell in sync with the rapid thuds of his heart.

Oh, he got to hear his beloved again! Joy to the world!

And what was even better was the fact that you answered on the first ring. “Yoohoo? What is my awfully drunk husband doing calling me at this hour?” you tittered, eyes crinkling further shut the wider your smile grew. 

Satoru swooned. God, what a dreamboat you were. His eyes fluttered shut as he rolled over onto his back, lower lip caught between his teeth. “Hmm? ‘M all fiiiiine and sober, I promise! I just m-miss you, that’s all…”

“No more lying, Mr. Cottonmouth. You are sooo drunk.”

A sniffle left Satoru. Your playful demeanour was getting to him good and proper. How did he get so blessed with a wife like you?

“...Toru? Don’t cry on me now, baby. Talk to me,” your voice called out, softening once the first telltale sign of your husband’s vulnerability came out. But whilst you were growing tender with Satoru, that same smile was still on your lips. 

“Well-” he tried to say, but his voice cracked. Satoru cleared his throat and began speaking once more. “I love you so goddamn much.”

And honestly, it warmed your heart to hear how he didn’t stammer through his declaration of adoration for you, even if no other words came as naturally to him.

“L-like, I think I’d die without you.” One pause.

“I just wanna crawl under your skin ‘n live there.” Another pause and a slight shudder.

“I want you to hold my heart in your hand ‘n feel it b-beat for you,” Satoru croaked out, shoving his face into his pillow once more. He felt so miserable that you weren’t there with him. 

But you should have been. You should have been laying there, head on his chest and one leg thrown over his hip as you both dreamt of each other. The fact that you weren’t doing that made Satoru’s heart clench so painfully.

And then he began wailing. Long, dramatic wails accompanied by hiccuping sobs that had you pulling away your phone from your ear with a wince. On and on the sobs went, and a deadpan expression slowly began appearing on your face. The game had gone on for long enough, and you missed your husband snoring like a baby beside you.

“Satoru. I’m quite literally beside you.”

Yes. Your husband, in his drunken haze, hadn’t noticed you in your shared bed. You were sitting up against the headboard, staring down at your pitifully hammered spouse. 

Click!

You both hung up your phones in silence, your shoulders bobbing as you concealed a fit of laughter. Satoru sat up slowly, clearly not amused.

His face was flushed nicely now, and not just because of the alcohol. His eyes remained blurry and unfocused, but indeed! You were sitting there with the biggest grin on your stupidly gorgeous face. 

“So y-you were just watchin’ me whilst I was pouring my heart out like a widow?”

You shrugged, shuffling over with a hand reaching out to tug your sulking husband closer. “It was cute. I like this side of you. Minus the wailing.”

“T-traitor. You’re such a traitor,” he groaned, the prank you had pulled sobering him up slightly. The embarrassment coursed through him as he lay down next to you, glassy eyes burning a hole through the ceiling. But hey! At least you were with him, right?

“...I feel stupid. Can you kiss me?”

“Wipe your nose first, you man-child,” your nose scrunched as you tossed a wad of tissues his way. 

In record time, Satoru had scrubbed his entire face dry and raw, then flopped onto you. He didn’t care that your fists were thumping at his chest. He didn’t care that he was slobbering all over your face and pecking you like an eager puppy. What mattered now was the fact that he was finally where his heart was.

With you.

divider by @cafekitsune

[gutsfics]

shorts. <- said with the same tone of voice as Finn saying "worms"

[seelestia]

✧ the gambler and his knight.

aventurine can't stand having his outfit exposed to the elements nor to the rude hands of clients that won't cooperate – luckily for him, he has you to take care of it all. { aventurine with a bodyguard!reader. }

⎯ fluff & angst. 2.9k wc. headcanons w/ some written scenes. the plot is vv subtle but it's there a.k.a aventurine simps for you (jokingly) but you both end up catching feelings (not jokingly). mentions of violence, death & russian roulette. pre-penacony timeline. a self-indulgent piece to celebrate this blog's 2nd anniv! ★

★ 〜 masterlist.

© seelestia on tumblr, june 2024. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

aventurine who graciously welcomes you under his employment with a game. just a little something to ease your nerves and get you used to his ways. you look at him with such incredulity as if he just fell and hit his head silly. he pays no mind to this – finds it to be amusing a great deal, actually. keep it up, newcomer!

“heads or tails?” he asks, flipping a coin in the air and catching it seamlessly. a routine for him, you would've figured from the sight. “that's. . . an odd way of saying hello,” you point out but your tone bears no hint of protest. he notices that.

“i've heard that one before,” aventurine tilts his head with a smile, nonchalant. “so what's your guess?”

“tails,” you reply without any delay. it's a mindless answer; getting it wrong this way would prove to bear less disappointment compared to putting actual thought in it. “heads for me then,” he whistles.

aventurine opens his palm. it's heads. you frown as if to suspect foul play—but you don't because you know about his notoriously good luck—and your new boss chuckles, almost placatingly.

“looks like i win,” he grins without a care in the world at all. “aren't you starving? let's fetch ourselves a meal, friend.”

a loss rewarded with a prize? you blink. with grace so in contrast to the whiplash you feel, aventurine walks past you with a trail of expensive perfume in his wake. obviously, he expects you to follow and you do after a moment's reluctance.

(this guy is more confusing than the stellaron.)

aventurine who grows quite fond of seeing you acquiesce to his wishes, whether serious or trivial. could you ward off those reporters? could you pour him a drink? could you play a game of poker with him? could you join him for lunch? you're always so professional that he starts to find some mirth in pushing your buttons (never too much). unlucky for you, he does it to be affectionate and lucky for him, you always say yes even if you roll your eyes every single time.

aventurine who trusts you with his credit card. . . to a worrying degree. when asked if he's sure about this, he just waves it off and says it'll be safer in your hands. seriously, this card has been in your possession longer than it's ever been in his. sometimes, he does ask for it back – only to drop some 200k credits to your account. “a tip for doing a good job,” he'd wink casually while you're flabbergasted beyond belief.

aventurine who finds it extremely attractive whenever you step in to protect him from harm. dealing with uncooperative clients is a day in his life, yet some are so brutish they resort to getting physical – but he has you to make sure their hands stay off him. a gun in his direction? knocked off before the trigger even has a chance to get pulled. reaching out to grab him by the collar? they're already on the ground, your foot threateningly pressed on their back as a warning. what a dashing sight – and thanks to you, his pristine outfit has been saved more times than he could count at this point.

aventurine who likes to call you his “knight in shining armor” teasingly. awh, you don't like it? he thinks you're more than deserving of that title with the way you always swoop in to get him out of trouble. if the thousands of credits he gives you aren't enough yet, won't a cute title suffice? “it sounds corny,” you tell him with a grimace—and maybe, yes—but he just chirps coyly, “dunno. i think it's fitting.”

aventurine who makes it his responsibility to check on you after a rough mission. credits are no problem, he'd even reserve the most expensive private doctor in the cosmos if that means you'll recover faster. sadly, he has little to no medical skills – so the most he can offer you is bandages. sure, you can take a bullet to the stomach and handle a punch or two, that's your job, but what about tiny scratches? . . .don't tell him you're about to reject his kind offer.

“what's your favorite color?” he queries, somewhat out of the blue considering the situation where he is helping you tend to a minor cut on your finger. you raise an eyebrow, “why do you wanna know?” as he gently plasters a plain-colored bandage on your skin (which he's only been granted permission to after minutes of begging you to let him do it).

“for the bandages,” aventurine answers. he finds no need to hide his intentions as he runs a thumb over the bandage, softly as to not hurt you, to keep its position secure. “so that the next time you ask, i'll have some in your favorite color for sure.”

“how. . . thoughtful of you,” you snort, amused.

(briefly, he resists the urge to ask if he can place a kiss on your cut for 'luck'. but if he does, you might have his head. so, he'll try another time.)

aventurine who slowly begins to find a sense of comfort in your company. maybe, it's the way you scoff at his quips with a smile or the way you always tell him to be careful. maybe, it's the way you take him seriously or the way you stay by his side—is your job description the only reason why?—or maybe, he's just pathetic and reeks of so much loneliness you feel sympathetic. he can't tell, but he hopes the luxuries he has can persuade you to stay just a little longer. even if you don't actually care. (you do.)

aventurine who notices how anxiety brims in your gaze when you watch him gamble at the table – with a sum too high to be considered sane and sometimes, his own life. he can see it all; how your hands shake as if you want to reach out, how your lips tremble as if you want to tell him to stop. but this is what he's made for, is it not? he'll survive one way or another. . . until fate decides the bill for all his past good fortune is finally due. and when the time comes, he'll be ready for it. (will you?)

a game of russian roulette.

it always starts with thrills only to end with carnage spilled all over the table. luck is the only thing worth praying for at that point and oh, is luck not the dearest friend aventurine ever had? hence the reason why he always agrees, not with a yes but with a “why not?”.

you're there as his protector, yet utterly condemned to the role of a witness as soon as aventurine nods along to that darned game. panic rushes through your veins as the gun is passed around so relaxedly, so easily with laughter all around. aventurine's next in line, you realize grimly. the next decision that comes after is spontaneous, so different from your usual calculated nature – you drag him out of the casino in a frenzy before the weapon even lands in his hand. in your head, there is no other thought louder than: he could've died.

“a shame i didn't get to the fun part,” you hear him hum from behind you, too disturbingly calm for your liking. the bustling noises inside the establishment have all but faded into the background. “that was close, hm?” he laughs, a sound you would've found endearing if this was another occasion. any occasion that doesn't involve teetering dangerously on the precipice of death.

you stop in your tracks and aventurine, behind you, naturally follows. your silence is something he first takes note of and the way your hand shakes as it holds his is the second. you still haven't let go. what's going through your mind? he calls out your name softly, perplexed at your lack of explanation.

“. . .why did you say yes?” you respond with a bitter question. “you could've died. you almost died,” you try to hold back a shout – yet, your words are spat in such a fusillade he feels a seed of guilt starting to bloom inside his lifeless heart. he discards it in favor of putting on a frivolous smile.

“oh, relax,” he lets out a chuckle, one that sounds so ignorant of the taut tension in the air. “it's just some russian roulette. why so serious?” he shrugs as if to physically brush off any seriousness clinging to his figure. his remark gives off the assumption that every single hint of your worry has flown over his head.

“it is serious. . .” you bite your bottom lip. he sneers in return, “yeah? since when?” as if to challenge you to give an actual answer. his life is full of risks, to say otherwise would be a lie. “you're sweet for worrying but you don't actually care about me that much, do you?” he snickers to himself. like the thought of your caring about him can't possibly be true, like it's all just a terrible joke.

but he's the only one laughing.

aventurine falls quiet and finally, genuinely meets your gaze for the first time that night. he doesn't like what he sees. your lips are downturned, unamused and saddened—you do care, a realization that has been left unsaid—and all remainders of levity in him are replaced by immediate dread. it only now registers that the anger, concern, frustration on your face are for him; they're the unavoidable consequences from caring about him.

(his eyes widen. no, no, no.)

“c'mon, you—” he covers it up with a carefree smile, as feigned as it came. he shoves his hand in one of his pockets. it's shaking. “. . .worry too much. you've seen me play a handful of games before. i've never lost a wager, remember?”

you don't look convinced at all. in fact, you look as if you've arrived at the brink of seething. “and if you do? for once in your life, you lose?” you prod him for more. for something, for anything – perhaps, for a promise that he won't do it again.

(but you know aventurine, you know there would be no such promise.)

“then i lose,” he says, final and resigned. “there's really nothing else to it,” he tries to offer you another smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “hey. at least, you'll be there to witness my spectacular fall, right? it'll be a show to remember.”

he nearly doesn't manage to keep up the façade. it's already as precarious as it can be. you don't reply to him this time – instead, you let go of his hand to wipe at your cheeks. his gaze trails after your fingers and it freezes upon seeing the pearly tears falling free from your eyes.

aventurine has never seen you cry before. you're always so stone-faced, so hard to break that he recalls almost cheering when he heard you laugh for the first time. that was when you finally won a round of poker against him. a pity, he would've reminisced about the memory more. . . if only the matter of losing and winning a game isn't as serious as it is now.

“don't say that,” you mutter, harshly wiping away at the incessant tears pouring from your eyes more than you'd ever allow them to. some make their way into your mouth, they taste just as bitter as your current frustration. does he truly value his life so little? you can't fathom it, you can't fathom him at all.

but there is one thing you were certain of, at the very least: “you hired me to protect you,” you shake your head unrelentingly, “so i'll do it. until you throw me away, i won't let you die.”

you've stopped crying then. aventurine feels remorse; the tears that you shed because of him are starting to dry. the selfish part of him wants to reach out and brush them away with his thumb – but would you let him? would this lead you further down the rabbit hole that is him? in the end, he decides against it.

“. . .i'm sorry,” he sighs instead, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. whatever it is he is apologizing for, he doesn't have a clue either. he lets his eyes slip shut. he can't bear to look at you, can't bear to look at his pitiful reflection in your eyes.

(he's not worth caring about, can't you see? he dances hand in hand with death – there is no need to subject yourself to being a spectator.)

the two of you then part ways that night with shallow pleasantries on your tongues. no inside jokes, no evident yearning for the other to stay, no more than an awkward exchange of “i'll see you tomorrow.”

on his way 'home', regret and relief clash to form something inexplicably hollow inside kakavasha's chest. he wanted to wipe away your tears—what a regret—but if he did, they would've burned on his skin and became another mark to haunt him—what a relief he didn't. and frankly, if destiny is about to reap his debt, he'd rather go with no regrets at all.

whether those regrets include you? he doesn't have an answer just yet.

(the name at the bottom of his contract with fate is signed as kakavasha. but you wouldn't recognize that name. not as him, at least.)

aventurine whose eyes can't flutter close at night ever since thoughts of you fill his mind more than they already do before. you care for him, you want him to live—all his fault, he allowed himself to get too close—but these realizations are rooted in too deep and refuse to leave. what to do, what to do, what to do?

it isn't supposed to turn out like this.

what he and you have is meant to be transactional; he'd be spared from unnecessary scuffles and you'd be compensated with monetary payment. he means to keep it superficially fun; for him to tease you with jests—so you'd stay and save him from the deafening silence in his head—and for you to dismiss him with that adorably annoyed look on your face. just some silly banter, that's it.

so then, since when are there rounds of poker where he'd coo over your frown when you lost? or the sound of your lecturing after he secretly got you a high-end item? or meals shared together where you'd bicker over the bill? or bandages in your favorite color kept inside his bedside table? since when do you start to care? . . .since when does he start to care?

think of something else.

kakavasha tosses and turns in his bed, but the soft pillows and blanket do nothing to quell these bothers of his. are feelings always this complicated? he places a hand over his eyes, tired and exhausted, and stares at the ceiling as if it could provide him with an answer.

but there's no use.

in a moment void of logical thinking, he reaches for his phone and hovers a finger over your name in his contacts. he is usually good friends with bad ideas – but not this time, he sets his phone down and lets out a frustrated sigh that only his expensive pillows are there to hear.

(for gaiathra's sake, he hasn't even told you his real name yet.)

aventurine who becomes awfully distant the next time he sees you. you accompany him to meetings with clients per usual, but it's different. . . he talks to you succinctly, not verbosely with that trademark grin of his. his face is bereft of the things you grow to like seeing on him. a sincere smile instead of one just for show, for example. but even that's difficult to ask for since he only speaks to fill the silence with empty chatter. he doesn't look you in the eyes either; you feel a pang of hurt, you've always loved his eyes.

aventurine who discards all thoughts of you as soon as he steps inside pier point to be assigned a project. a conclave between the stonehearts is a matter of top confidentiality and you, dutifully, are ordered to wait for him outside the office. though, he'll admit; your absence by his side actually does leave a gaping void—such hypocrisy, really—but at least, those pesky voices in his head know how to shut up when it comes to work.

“penacony. . . is diamond finally ready to do something about it?”

aventurine rests his left hand on the small of his back, fiddling with the clubs-shaped detailing on the fabric there. it looks like an act of idleness from afar, but anyone observant enough would know it's a way to subdue whatever nerves he wishes to hide.

he waits for the person in front of him, gazing at the purplish-red sky of pier point at sunset, to speak. for their next words shall mark the start of his next journey in fate's course.

aventurine who hesitates to let you come to penacony with him at first. but it'd be poor reasoning not to, since some might have a bone to pick with him as the corporation's representative. . . and he knows you'll protest to come with anyway. fine then, situationship discomfiture be damned – not even a second after he steps out of the meeting, his neon eyes finally meet yours. “so, how does a trip to penacony sound?” he announces with a confident smile. you blink, noticing how his lips are wobbling at the sides. you don't say no, however. (if only the two of you know what sort of ride you're getting yourselves into.)

— thanks for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. why don't we all sob over this man like it's a cryfest ♡

[colouredbyd]

We're All Gonna Die

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: after a haunting nightmare where you lose your boyfriends, you wake up breathless and unraveling, only to find them there with warm hands and unsteady voices pulling you close until the fear ebbs and the night begins to feel safe again.

w/c: 3.4k

warnings: nightmares, panic attack, anxiety, death (in dream), physical comfort, swearing, teasing, emotional vulnerability, soft hurt comfort, affectionate banter, crying, clinging, being held through panic, post-panic exhaustion.

a/n: i remember reading a fic with a similar scene in the marvel fandom on ao3, but i haven’t been able to find the author again, credit for the inspiration goes to them wherever they are <3 masterlist

You surface from the dream in the dark, and it feels like being dragged up from the depths of some cold, black sea where you had been drowning for hours, lungs bursting and body numb. 

You wake gasping in the too-warm bed, with air that won’t come fast enough, the weight of the dream still choking your chest, your throat so tight no sound escapes but a low, cracked sob you barely register as your own.

It takes a long, harrowing second to even realize you’re awake because the images are still there, vivid and sharp-edged and cruel, imprinted against the inside of your skull. 

James’ glasses, shattered and smeared with blood beneath his head on cold stone. Remus slumped in a heap, one arm twisted beneath him unnaturally, eyes empty and staring. Sirius screaming himself hoarse until his voice broke into nothing and then silence, a horrible ringing silence that left you standing in the ruins of what used to be everything. 

Your hands useless and shaking and stained. Your voice gone. Your whole body cold with the knowing that you had lost them, all of them.

It’s that knowing that rips the breath from your lungs all over again. You clutch at the sheets beneath you like an anchor, but even the bed feels wrong. The air is too thin, the room too bright, your body too small and fragile in the too-big space that is suddenly full of sound and warmth and too many hands.

Because they’re there, all of them, and before your mind can make sense of it, there are hands everywhere, warm and frantic and too real against your trembling skin. 

Broad palms on your shoulders, your arms, grounding you yet making you feel weightless, unmoored, one hand cupping your face, trembling strands of sweat-damp hair brushed gently from your cheeks and jaw, another pressing at your hip, pulling, steadying, one set of arms sliding tight around your waist, anchoring you to a body you can barely register through the rising storm inside you. 

And voices tumbling over each other, breathless and panicked, sharp with fear, trying to reach through the spiraling chaos in your chest where breath won’t come and your heart is battering itself against your ribs. 

The world feels distant and close all at once, too bright, too loud, your body foreign, unrecognizable beneath the weight of it, and you cannot tell where you begin and they end, only that you are falling and falling and they are trying to catch you with hands and words and warmth that cannot yet pierce the panic surging through you like a flood.

"Love, breathe. Bloody hell, what’s wrong? What’s wrong!?" James is saying, his voice shaking, high and frightened. 

He pulls you gently up into his lap, cradling you close, arms wrapping around your middle like if he holds you tightly enough the trembling will stop, like if he rocks you gently enough the dream will fade.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t even force your eyes open against the burn of tears and panic behind your lids. Another broken sob catches in your throat, sharp as glass.

"She’s burning up. Remus, what the fuck. What’s going on?" Sirius’ voice cuts in, rough and terrified, close now. You feel his hands on your face, cupping your cheeks in cool palms, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t even feel fall. 

"Darling, can you hear me? Sweetheart, please. What’s wrong? What happened?"

"It’s a panic attack," Remus says quickly, voice soft but urgent. You feel him behind you, sliding an arm firmly around your waist, pressing close, his breath warm at your ear as he speaks low and steady. 

"She can’t breathe. She’s caught in it. Darling, listen to me. You’re safe. You’re here with us. No one’s gone anywhere. Just breathe for me, dovey."

But you can’t. The air won’t come, no matter how your chest heaves and shakes beneath the weight of the panic. Your heart is pounding too hard, too fast, a frantic bird trapped behind your ribs, wings battering at bone. 

The sobs keep breaking free now, ragged and desperate, only making it harder. It’s terrifying, because even though you know you’re awake, some part of you is still trapped in the dream where they were gone. 

The sheer wrongness of the fact that they are here now, holding you, alive, only makes it worse, as though your mind can’t reconcile the two realities.

"Remus, she’s not breathing right." James’ voice cracks, arms tightening around you. There is real fear in it now.

"I know, Jamie, I know!" Remus says quickly, voice calm even as his arms hold you steady and close. "It’s alright. I’ve got you, dove. Listen to me. Try to breathe in with me. Just a little, love."

But the breath won’t come. You gasp and choke and sob harder. Sirius curses under his breath, leaning in closer, forehead pressed lightly to yours, his voice breaking.

"Fuck. Remus!"

"Talk to her," Remus says, voice lower now, soothing and grounding, fingers stroking gently up and down your arm. 

"Keep her here. Keep her with us, she’s still trapped in it. Sweetheart, can you hear us? It’s remmy, love. You’re safe. It was only a dream. We’re all here, I promise."

"It’s alright, love. You’re alright," James says, voice trembling but trying so hard to be gentle. He presses soft, shaky kisses to your temple as he rocks you slowly in his arms. "We’ve got you. Just breathe. Please, sweetheart. Breathe."

Sirius’ hands are still on your face, thumbs moving softly across your cheeks. His own are damp now with tears as he presses closer.

"You’re okay," Sirius whispers, voice rough and low, so close you can feel the tremor in him. "We’re here. Look at me, darling. Please open your eyes. You’re safe."

Another sob rips through you, harsh and gasping. But this time, the sharpness of their voices, the warmth of their bodies around you, the steady weight of Remus’ arms and the sound of his voice in your ear anchor you just enough that something shifts. The edge of the panic loosens for the span of a heartbeat. In that heartbeat, you manage one thin, shuddering breath.

"There, love. Just like that," Remus says softly, holding you tighter. "That’s it, darling. Another one. Slow, love."

James presses another kiss to your temple, voice barely above a whisper now.

"Good girl. That’s it. We’re not going anywhere. You’re safe."

You clutch at James’ shirt, knuckles white, body still trembling hard. But the breath comes again. Another thin, shallow inhale that catches but doesn’t break this time. Then another. And another, though your chest still burns and the tears won’t stop.

"I... I..." The words won’t come, tangled in the remnants of the panic and the weight of the dream. Sirius leans in quickly, brushing your hair back with trembling fingers.

"It’s alright, love. You don’t have to talk. We’re here. We’ve got you."

"I thought..." you manage at last, voice wrecked and raw, a sob catching in the single word. "I saw..."

James shakes his head, kissing your hair again, pulling you closer into his lap.

"It wasn’t real, love," he says softly, voice shaking. 

"Not going anywhere," Sirius whispers, hand cupping your cheek again.

"Not ever," Remus murmurs against your ear, voice steady, breath warm. "I promise."

Slowly, so slowly, the storm inside you begins to break. The tremors ease bit by bit as you cling to the steady rhythm of their voices, their hands, the warmth of their bodies holding you close in the dark. As if they could stitch the broken pieces of your heart back together with love alone.

The air moves through you now in broken gasps, but each breath comes a little easier, no longer jagged with panic though the ache in your throat and chest remains heavy, your head tucked beneath James’ chin. 

You feel the warmth of Sirius pressed to one side of you, his face buried in your hair, arms wrapped tight around your waist, and Remus’ steady presence at your back, his voice low against your ear as he murmurs again and again that you are safe, that they are here, that nothing can take them from you.

No one moves for a long moment. It is as though they are afraid to loosen their hold even slightly, afraid that if they let go, even for a breath, you will spiral again, lost in that terrible place where they cannot follow.

But your fingers begin to uncurl at last, no longer clawing desperately at James’ shirt, though you stay pressed close, every part of you still too raw, too fragile.

Then you feel James shift beneath you, just a little, one hand brushing your hair back gently from your damp forehead.

"Sweetheart, I’m gonna get you some water, alright? Just for a second. I’ll be right back."

A soft sound of protest escapes you before you can stop it. Your fingers clutch at his sleeve.

"Please... don’t go." Your voice is rough, barely above a whisper.

You feel him press a kiss to your temple.

"I won’t go far, love. I promise. Remus and Sirius are right here. I’ll be back before you even notice."

Still, it takes another whispered reassurance from Remus — "We’ve got you, darling. We won’t let go," — before you finally loosen your grip just enough to let James slip carefully from beneath you. 

The warmth of his body leaves you aching, though only for a moment, because then Sirius is pulling you gently closer into his lap, wrapping his arms securely around you.

James moves quickly across the room, barefoot, grabbing the glass of water from the bedside table with shaking hands before returning just as fast, sinking back down onto the bed beside you with a soft curse under his breath when he sees the tears still lingering on your cheeks.

"Here, love. Just a sip. Slowly." He holds the glass to your lips with one hand while his other strokes soothingly over your hair. The first sip makes your throat burn, but you take another, and another, the cool water grounding in a way you hadn’t expected.

"Good girl," James murmurs. "That’s it."

Sirius kisses your temple, his voice softer now but still thick with worry.

"You scared the hell out of us, darling. What’s got you so caught up like that?"

You shake your head, another small sound of protest in your throat.

"It’s stupid," you whisper, voice rough, ashamed of the tears still spilling from your lashes. "You’ll laugh at me."

"Never," Remus says instantly, arms tightening around your waist. His voice is steady, warm. "You could tell us anything, love. We’d never laugh."

"Not ever," James echoes, brushing the backs of his fingers gently across your cheek.

Sirius’ hand slides softly over your arm.

You close your eyes for a moment, breath trembling, trying to steady yourself. The images still flicker behind your eyelids, sharp and raw, but the warmth of their touch anchors you enough to speak.

"It was a dream," you begin softly, voice shaking. "It started... it started with James and me. It was Halloween night. We were together and... and we got attacked. There was nothing we could do."

Your voice breaks on the words. Sirius presses a soft kiss to your hair while James’ hand finds yours, fingers lacing together.

"You were gone first," you whisper, voice cracking. "I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save anyone. I... I died too."

You feel James shake his head, as though trying to banish the image from your mind, but he says nothing, just squeezes your hand.

"And before... before I died," you continue, breath catching, "I saw Remus. He was already gone and there was blood. So much blood."

Remus holds you tighter.

"I’m right here, love," he murmurs. "I’m not going anywhere."

"And Sirius..." Your voice shudders again. "You were... you were caught. You were screaming for me and you got pulled through something. It looked like a veil and then you were gone."

A soft, choked sound escapes Sirius, and he presses his face more firmly against your hair.

"It wasn’t real," he whispers fiercely. "I’m here. I’m right here, love."

Tears spill down your cheeks again, though your body trembles less now beneath their touch. The room is quiet but for the soft murmur of their voices, the steady rhythm of their breathing, the warmth of their bodies wrapped around you, holding you safe against the lingering echoes of the dream.

You let out a long, shaky breath.

"It felt real," you whisper. "Too real."

James presses another kiss to your temple.

"We know, sweetheart. But we’re here. We’re safe and you’re safe."

Remus’ hand strokes soothingly up and down your back, grounding you further with each gentle touch.

"We’ll stay right here with you, love," he says softly. "As long as you need."

And you believe him, as you sink a little deeper into their arms, surrounded by their love, the last sharp edges of the nightmare slowly beginning to fade.

You begin to relax further into their arms, exhaustion pulling at your bones now that the worst of the panic has passed. 

But before you can close your eyes fully, you hear a soft noise — muffled, strangled — and after a beat you realize it is coming from Sirius.

You lift your head slightly from where you’ve curled against Remus, blinking sleep-heavy eyes up at them — and immediately catch the sight of Sirius, his mouth pressed so tightly shut it looks painful, shoulders trembling violently with the effort not to laugh.

His whole face is pink, lips twitching, chest shaking.

James is watching him too now, eyebrows raised, the corner of his mouth twitching with a barely-suppressed grin.

Your eyes narrow instantly.

"You’re laughing!" you accuse, voice hoarse but sharp with disbelief.

Sirius lets out a strangled noise, something between a snort and a wheeze, and shakes his head rapidly, biting hard on his bottom lip like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

"N-No," he chokes out, voice warbling with the effort of holding it in. "No, love. Not— not at you, just—"

He clamps both hands over his mouth now, eyes squeezing shut as if that will help.

Remus lets out an exasperated sigh behind you, though you can hear the faint thread of amusement in it.

"Padfoot," he warns, tone low. "Don’t you dare."

But it’s hopeless — a wheezing giggle escapes Sirius, his shoulders shaking harder now.

"I’m sorry!" he finally gasps, laughter bubbling up in spite of himself. "But honestly — what kind of stupid fucker dies because he forgot his wand?"

At that, James bursts out laughing, throwing his head back against the pillows.

"You absolute arse," he snorts between helpless chuckles. "She’s telling us about a nightmare and you—"

But it’s too late. Sirius is practically wheezing with laughter now, wiping tears from his eyes, face flushed.

"I mean—!" he manages between gasps. "Come on, Prongs! Even in her subconscious, she thinks you’re a complete idiot! Forgot your wand and got us all killed!"

For one stunned second, you gape at him — then, with an outraged noise, you scramble up out of Remus’ lap and launch yourself across the bed at Sirius.

"You bastard!" you yelp, aiming a pillow straight at his head.

Sirius yelps in mock terror, still laughing so hard he’s barely able to dodge.

"Ahh! No, love! Mercy! I can’t breathe!" he cries, collapsing backwards into James, who is now laughing so hard he’s clutching his sides.

"You deserve it!" you shout, pummeling him with the pillow as Sirius flails, giggling uncontrollably.

Remus, shaking his head, watches with fond amusement.

Sirius throws an arm dramatically over his face, peeking out at you with sparkling eyes.

"I regret nothing!" he declares between laughs.

James wheezes, wiping at his own eyes.

"You’re no better," he shoots at Sirius, grinning. "At least I died — you got stuck in a bloody veil. What does that say about you?"

That sets Sirius off again, howling with laughter beneath you as you collapse half on top of him, breathless with a reluctant giggle of your own

"Alright, alright," Remus murmurs, though you can hear the warmth in his voice. "That’s enough, you two."

Sirius grins down at you, brushing your hair back gently.

"See, love? No matter what happens — we’re here. You’ve got us. Always."

Their laughter softens the room, filling the cracks left behind by your dream.

You feel your breath steadying further with each quiet moment, your body growing heavier, wearier, but no longer from fear. Only exhaustion now, the kind that seeps deep into your bones after too much adrenaline, too many tears.

They are still wrapped around you, warm and solid, a living shield against the shadows that still linger at the edges of your mind.

Sirius kisses your temple once more, arms snug around your waist. James runs his fingers slowly through your hair, his free hand curled around yours beneath the blankets. Remus behind you is a steady, unshakable weight, his cheek resting lightly against your head.

For a long moment you stay like that, content to be held. But as your breathing slows, your eyes begin to drift closed — until a soft, sleepy thought edges into your mind and, with a small murmur, you shift, untangling gently from James’ lap you were on.

You wriggle your way between Remus and Sirius, pressing close to Remus’ side, one arm draped lazily over his chest.

Immediately you hear an exaggerated, scandalized gasp from James.

"Sweetheart! What’s this, then?" he says, voice full of mock offense.

Sirius lifts his head, smirking.

"Yeah, what the hell, darling? Running off to Moony like that?"

You peer up at them through sleep-heavy eyes and give the smallest smile.

"You laughed at me," you say simply, voice soft and hoarse but laced with playfulness.

Sirius lets out an overly dramatic sigh, clutching his chest.

"Betrayed in my own bed," he declares. "Well then. Come here, Jamie, I suppose it’s just you and me now."

James snorts but grins, flopping back onto the pillows and holding his arms out.

"Come here, you big idiot. I’ll show you what real cuddling looks like."

Sirius promptly sprawls across him with an exaggerated groan of contentment, tossing one leg dramatically over James’ hips.

"Mmm, yes, this’ll do."

"Ow— You’re heavy!" James complains through a laugh. "You’re going to crush me!"

You and Remus exchange a look, the same tired amusement twinkling in his eyes. You can’t help the soft laugh that bubbles up, echoed by the low, warm chuckle rumbling in his chest beneath your cheek.

"Honestly," Remus murmurs, voice full of fond exasperation. "What are we going to do with them?"

"Nothing," you mumble against him, eyelids fluttering. "Just let them be ridiculous."

At that, James reaches over, tugging gently at the blanket until it covers all of you again, tucking it up around your shoulders.

Sirius shifts slightly, stretching one arm back across you so that now you are wrapped in all three of them — Remus at your side, Sirius’ arm thrown lazily over your waist, James’ legs tangled with yours beneath the covers.

The warmth of them, the quiet rise and fall of their breaths, the soft, contented hum of the room, all of it settles deep into your chest. You feel your body finally relaxing completely, the last remnants of fear slipping away into the dark.

Just as your eyes begin to close again, you feel Remus shift slightly, his lips brushing against the crown of your head. His voice is soft, low, just for you.

"You’re safe, love," he whispers. "Nothing will happen. Not while we’re here."

And you believe him. You let yourself believe it, wrapped in the warmth of them all, the sound of their laughter still echoing softly in your mind.

For now, this is real — the gentle thrum of their hearts, the weight of their arms, the comfort of knowing that this dream will not come true, not here, not tonight.

Even if somewhere, in another time or a near future, shadows rise and fates turn dark, here in this bed, beneath these hands, beneath their steady breathing and whispered words, you are safe. This moment, fragile and bright as a flame in the dark, will live on long after the dream has faded.

[leechqnsgirl]

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 my baby, georgia

-- you have the most adorable clingy bf ever

woonhak x fem!reader | wc: 633 | pure fluff and comfort <3 | masterlist | warnings: kiss, woonhak cries juuust a little

****

woonhak seemed extra...touchy today.

you didn't know why.

you asked him if something was wrong, but he just shook his head.

it was ever since you went over to the dorms after practice. he hadn't even showered yet and he was practically glued to your hip.

it wasn't until he finally left for the bathroom when jaehyun had walked up to you.

"he had a dream you broke up with him." he whispered to you, not wanting the others to hear.

with wide eyes you turned to face him. "what?"

he nodded his head, "the whole day he seemed so down, he would barely talk to us." he sighed, "it wasn't until I found him alone in the bathroom. he wasn't exactly crying but he seemed like he was close to it." your brows furrowed, "I asked him what was wrong, he wouldn't tell me at first but...I got it out of him."

you bit your lip in thought, "but, why would he even dream of that?" jaehyun sighed, "I feel like I'm a third in this relationship." you rolled your eyes, giving his shoulder a light smack.

"woonhak said that you've been different to him. not as affectionate I guess." he shrugged his shoulders. "I mean that's what he said. and the whole day it seemed like he was dreading and waiting for the moment he'd see you again."

before you could say another word, you heard woonhak come out from the bathroom.

he immediately wrapped his arms around your back, his chin tucked into the crook of your neck. you could feel his damp hair wet your skin.

with a sigh, you placed your hands on his forearms, he let out a confused noise.

"woonhak, can we go to your room?" woonhak nodded, trying his best to seem composed.

but really, he was dying on the inside. he had no idea what you were gonna say, but all the worst things came to mind.

once the two of you made it to his room, you closed the door behind you.

he sat down on his bed, you walked over to in front of him but never sat down.

"woonhak, are you gonna tell me what's wrong?" woonhak's head dropped, he started into his lap. he shook his head.

you stepped closer to him, picking up both of his hands.

"woonhak, I talked to jaehyun."

now that made his raise his head.

"w-what did he say?" he seemed so nervous. you just wanted to give him the warmest hug.

and so that's what you did, you pulled him to stand up and fell into his arms.

"woonhak, you know i'll never leave you...right?" that hit him right in the heart. woonhak could feel his eyes burning.

he felt so embarrassed.

wordlessly, woonhak nodded his head.

"and I want you to know its just a dream, okay? you'll never have to worry about waking up and not being able to see me or hold me anymore. because I'll always be here."

he sniffled, ducking his head down. even if he hated getting all emotional like this, he couldn't help but love the care you'd give him whenever he was upset.

"and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for not paying attention to you, baby. ive just been so caught up with my work. its hard. but I know that's not an excuse." you raised his head, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "i'll be better, okay?"

he bit his lip, his ears flushed pink. his heart doing flips in his chest from your words.

you looked him in the eye right before placing a soft kiss on his lips now. pressing your forehead against his.

"now come on, woon, we have to go back."

he couldn't believe he ever thought his bad dream could be real.

[heytheredelulu]

To Have and To Hold-

And to Fuck Whenever I Want

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

Word Count: 1.5k

C/W: Shameless smut. It’s our favorite dirty talkin’, 107 year old super soldier fucking you (his wife) on your period.

Gimme beefy Bucky coming home late, long after his kids are in bed for the night and finding his pretty little wife curled up on the couch with a frown on her perfect face, watching some shitty ass movie.

His cock twitches in his jeans at the sight of you in his tshirt and an audible groan rises up from his throat when he rounds the corner completely and notices you’ve chosen to forgo pajama pants altogether. Those innocent little cotton briefs of yours always do him in.

“What’s wrong, momma?” He asks in a low, gravely voice as he takes a seat next to you on the couch, resting a large hand on your bare thigh.

“Cramps.” You reply flatly, not taking your gaze off the garbage rom-com playing on the tv, though you’ve seen it numerous times.

“Oh.” He breathes out, glancing over his shoulder at the dry-erase calendar hanging on the wall in the kitchen that you use to manage your large family’s schedule. “Hm. Two days early?” He asks.

“Yeah, two fucking days early.” You snap, shifting in your seat.

He keeps his grasp firm on your thigh, offering an affectionate squeeze.

“You feelin’ that bad, huh?” He asks in a soft voice that he reserves only for you.

You nod, finally pulling your attention away from the television and turning it onto him. The only light source in the room at this time of night is from the flashing scenes across the flatscreen but that little bit of illumination is all he needs to see how glassy your eyes are.

“Oh, baby girl.” He murmurs, pushing your hair back off your face. “Lemme take care of you.”

You shake your head, knocking free a few of the tears that had been brimming your lash line. “No, there’s nothing you can do to help.”

He scoffs, his hand sliding up the soft flesh of your thigh until his fingertips brush the hem of your underwear.

“No. Baby, no.” You protest, bringing your hand down to stop him but his vibranium hand is faster, catching your wrist and pushing it away.

“Yes. Baby, yes.” He muses, slipping his index finger under the fabric and gently wrapping the string of your tampon around it.

“Bucky, that’s disgusting.” You hiss, frowning at him. “I’m on my period.”

He lets out a low, breathy chuckle as he slowly and carefully begins to tug. “It’s just blood, momma. You think me of all people would be bothered by blood?” He asks softly.

You pause, considering your answer but in your silence he continues. “Besides, wasn’t that part of the vows we exchanged in that sweet little church before God? To have and to hold and to fuck whenever I want?”

“That was not in our vows and you know it.”

“Hm, they weren’t? We should consider renewing those.” He replies with a crooked smirk as he pulls your tampon free, tossing it over the couch and into the waste bin with precision.

“I gotta be honest, baby girl. If the good lord hadn’t intended for me to fuck you everytime my cock was hard, he wouldn’t have blessed you with such a perfect little pussy.”

“Bucky..” you warn, sitting upright as he rises off the couch.

He shushes you, his large hands moving to unbuckle his belt as your eyes settle on the tented crotch of his jeans.

“If you think-“ He mumbles, pulling the leather through the silver buckle and unbuttoning his jeans with his thick fingers. “That I’m not going to bury myself balls deep inside my wife any and every chance I get- you are sorely mistaken.” He tells you matter of factly, tugging his jeans down his defined waist and kicking them unceremoniously aside in a pile at the foot of the couch. “Now take off those sweet little panties before I tear them off of you.”

You hesitate, swallowing down the whimper that rose up in your throat at his command.

“I said, off.” He repeats sternly, stepping out of his boxers and wrapping a hand around his weeping cock. He pumps himself lazily once, twice, in your hesitation before letting out an impatient growl and reaching forward to curl his vibranium fingers under the waistband of underwear, not allowing you a second more to protest before tearing them effortlessly off of your body.

“Now, are you gonna follow my instructions or will I have to pick you up and set you down where you belong?” He asks in a gruff whisper, his blue eyes darkening with desire.

“And where exactly do you think I belong?” You ask him defiantly, pulling at his last thread of patience.

“You-“ He growls, grasping your wrists in a punishing grip and yanking you to your feet. He jerks you towards him as he looms over you, his head dipped down to hold your gaze and his impossibly hard cock pressing against your abdomen, leaving a smear of precum across the soft skin of your belly.

“You belong wrapped around me.” He murmurs, cupping your jaw gently and brushing the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip in an affectionate sentiment that felt like such a stark contrast to the aggression he’d just been displaying. It was the little gestures that betrayed that dominance in him, that assured you that this powerful man standing so needy before you loved you so much that he’d do anything for you without question.

You lean into his touch and he lets out a low and breathy moan.

“You belong wrapped around me, momma.” He continues. “Crying out my name. Soakin’ my cock with your sweet, sweet-“ He pauses, his length twitching as he sucks in a sharp breath. “Fuck, I need you.” he chokes out, settling his hands on each side of your hip and he lifts you effortlessly, sinking you down inch by inch onto his throbbing cock.

He plants his feet and bends his knees, supporting your weight as he cups your ass, kneading the soft flesh while he allows you the opportunity to anchor your arms around his neck. A shameless moan rises from your throat, your head tipping back in the pleasure of him buried balls deep within you as he walks you backwards to press your back to the wall. A low and cocky chuckle is all the warning he gives you before he draws his hips back, thrusting up into you hard enough to kiss your cervix. Choked gasps tear from your chest as he picks up a steady rhythm, massaging your aching walls with every deep rut of his hips.

“I thought-“ He hissed through gritted teeth, dipping his head to nip at your pulse point. “You said nothing would help.”

You shake your head, mumbling incoherently and letting your head fall against your shoulder to allow him further access to the sensitive skin of your neck. “Seems like it’s helping.” He muses, licking a long stripe up the column of your throat. You whimper, tightening your legs around his waist as he slows his pace into long, deep strokes, groaning as he savors the way you grip him, the feeling of your building orgasm causing his hips to stutter just the slightest.

“Fuck, momma. You have.. the most.. perfect.. cunt.” He rasps out, emphasizing each of the last words with a brutal thrust.

You break with that last deep roll of his hips, the tension that was coiled tight in your abdomen snapping with a burst of white hot ecstacy, a broken cry escaping your heaving chest as your walls spasm around him.

“Oh God, that’s it. Come on my cock, come all over daddy’s cock.” He grunts, snapping his hips and increasing his tempo to fuck you through the dizzying waves of your release.

“Jamie..” You whimper, reaching a trembling hand to caress his jaw.

His name on your lips is the sweetest fucking sound, causing his breath to catch and his eyes flutter closed with a low and raspy moan. He turns his head to press a kiss to your palm before you trail your fingertips down his shoulders in a featherlight touch. He buries his face into your neck, his short, sharp pants hot against your skin, his movements growing sloppy and erratic as he hangs on by a mere thread.

“I’m- I-“ He chokes out, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to muffle the primal groan that rips through his chest as his balls draw up and his cock pulses, emptying himself inside you with one last powerful thrust.

He’s still for a moment, working to catch his breath before he tightens his arms around you, peppering gentle kisses along your jaw as he lowers you to the floor on wobbly legs and you sway, stumbling forward slightly.

“Momma.” He says softly, splaying a large hand against the base of your skull and drawing you into his chest. “You alright?”

“Yeah, baby. I’m alright.” You assure him, a hum of satisfaction rumbling in his chest under your ear. “I’m feeling much, much better.”

He smiles, tucking your head under his chin just to feel you close to him a moment longer.

“C’mon, baby. Let’s get you in a hot bath.”

His hands trail along your spine in a soothing motion, goosebumps prickling along your flushed skin in response to his touch.

“To have and to hold.” He whispers, pressing a firm kiss to your temple.

You grin against his chest, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent.

“And to fuck whenever you want.”

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[slasherscream]

the absolute INSANITY of the pushing your s/o away thing with the crazy ass boy gang… it’s like triggering a dog’s prey drive but for serial killers w abandonment issues

CRAZY ASS BOYS GANG + PUSHING THEIR HAND AWAY/REJECTING AFFECTION

❥ who gets pissed the fuck off ❥

Billy Loomis - Is irritated off rip. Billy plays it cool but he needs physical affection from you. He’s casual about it so he flies under the radar, but this is a stage five clinger. He’s always doing something small. Touching your fingers. A hand on your back. Neck. Sitting behind you instead of putting you directly in his lap. It’s little stuff. Hovering. Smack his hand away one of these times and his jaw clenches right away. “What the hell is your problem?” Please snuggle up to him and don’t start world war 3. It’s not worth the joke. 

Kevin Khatchadourian - Quick question, why do this to yourself? Kevin does not need, nor does he particularly enjoy, physical contact. Period. He is gracious enough to give you physical contact because he knows you’re built different (pathetic). For you to then turn around and spit in the face of him being kind enough to meet your needs? …. Quite crazy of you. The look he gives you is pure confusion because he’s honest to God baffled. What do you want to accomplish here? Go ahead and start begging now, because he’s not touching you for a long while. 

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - Swings wildly between damn near dodging any physical affection you attempt to give him to hanging off you like a squid on a ship. No in-between. For you to have the audacity to reject him when he’s feeling clingy? How dare you. He doesn’t have to beg anyone for attention! Did you forget who you’re dating? Doesn’t even care if you did it with obvious playfulness. He’s sensitive. He’s tender. He’s a bitch. He goes to get up and leave entirely and you have to grab him and beg him to cuddle so this doesn’t become a week long cold war. Happy ego stroking! 

Stu Macher - What you’re not about to do is ruin his mood. Baby, he’s about to ruin yours. How about that? If you push his hands off you once he enjoys a little playful bitchiness. Playing hard to get. He likes to chase, it’s cool. Twice? Okay…. We’re irritating him. Three times? He’s gonna grab your hand, stop smiling, and stare at you. When he places his hand back where it belongs, on your thigh, don’t act up again. He could make your whole week go to shit. Don’t start wars you won’t win. He’s the king of playing stupid games and winning stupid prizes. 

Nathan Prescott - Has to bluster and get visibly pissed off because he is rejection sensitive to a degree that is astounding, frankly. Let you see him upset after he tried to be affectionate and you said no? Hah! Not fucking likely. Being physically affectionate in the first place doesn’t come easy to him. Quality time is more his speed. Even worse if it wasn’t a sexual advance he was making. He tried to wrap an arm around you and you shrug him off? You’ll be lucky to get a hello out of him for the next week. Good luck soldier.

David Mccall - Outwardly, he pretends to be despondent and sheepish when you bat his hand away. He’s using sadness as a shield. If he’s sad then you might feel bad and give in. He’ll use any tool in his arsenal to get his way. One of his greatest skills is speaking in a soft voice, just shy of how you’d speak to a toddler, and telling you: “I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” This is all to hide the fact that you rejecting him in any way, shape, or form makes him so angry he can barely think. You might be able to catch the rage hidden behind the veil. If you’re quick enough. David puts on a convincing show, but his gentle smile is twitching at the edges.

❥ who gets sad and mopey ❥

Jordan Li - Oh you pushed them away? No, that’s cool, it’s totally fine. You can want space. Everyone’s entitled to their own space bubble. Of course. Are you having a bad day? Are you mad at them? Did they do something wrong? Did they piss you off? These are the types of questions Jordan is going to “casually” ask for the next ten minutes while they sit really close to you. They’re not touching you! They always sit with their legs spread so wide. Their arm isn’t around you, it’s on the back of the couch. You’re nitpicking here, babe. They’re staring at you with their big brown eyes. No, they didn’t get any closer while you weren’t looking. 

Josh Washington - Why would you do this to him? Don’t push his hand off you unless you mean it or you’re being obviously playful about it. If you pretend to be mad at him while you do it, no matter how unconvincing of an actor you are, he will believe you. Sensitive king. He also won’t go to touch you again until you initiate the contact. Physical touch is reassuring and comforting to him but even he (category five clinger) gets touch aversion at times. As observant as he is, he knows some people are uncomfortable asserting their boundaries, so they’ll try to soften the blow of saying no by being “playful”. He cannot take the risk! You could mean it but don’t want to hurt his feelings. Josh interprets many playful no’s as real ones. Better safe than sorry.

❥ secret third worse thing ❥

Sebastian Valmont - Doesn’t take it for anything more than what it is. If you’re being playful he recognizes it. If you’re seriously not wanting to be touched at any given moment he understands that as well. However, in the case of being playful, you’ve started a war you can’t win. Because, as much as Sebastian enjoys chasing you…  Sebastian also likes to be chased. Ten minutes from now you’ll go to give Sebastian’s cheek a kiss and he’s going to dodge you. Hard. To such an extent it’s bordering on insult. He’ll be wearing a cat that got the canary grin all the while. 

Jason Dean/JD - Doesn’t take you seriously even if you are dead serious. I’m sorry, you’ve discovered his worst character trait by far. Most boundaries are a joke to him. He always wants to touch you. He loves you! He craves you like a drug. You should feel the same for him, in equal measure and desperation. So why wouldn’t you want him touching you? Holding you close. He’s so gentle with you (usually). His arms should feel like home. No matter how long a day you’ve had. No matter how overwhelmed you might be with sound, sight, touch. In JD’s eyes you’re one soul in two bodies. He always wants you near. He knows you want the same. You’re just a little dramatic sometimes.