#not just because he's beautiful that's not the only reason

[quarterlifekitty]

first, im a bit new to cod but idk…

thinking about ghost’s spouse visiting him on base or some shit, and everyone else wondering how tf he was emotionally flexible enough to bag a bad bitch 🫶

note: this is just my personal little fantasy world headcanon lol so take it with a grain of salt!

Simon maintains a vaguely human lifestyle by adhering to one very strict rule: rigid compartmentalization. You don’t come up at work, and work doesn’t come up around you. Never the twain shall meet, he thinks. And he’s not exactly a watershed of information when he’s with his mates. And it’s not like anyone is asking “When was the last time you got fucked, Ghost?” and seriously expecting a response.

He tells you about the crew, but not about what he does with them. Killing, espionage, torture– that kind of thing stays off the dinner table.

Let it be known that you do not surprise him at work. You respect his boundaries too much, which is why he’s so fucking serious about you, honestly. He calls, asking if you can run something to him. This is maybe the greatest symbol of trust he can bestow, as a man who has only a fraction of an existence in the eyes of the government: he asks you to bring a document of his. He gives you the instructions on how to find it, and trusts that you won’t look at anything you don’t have to.

You know Johnny lets out a low whistle when he sees you coming up with a manilla folder in your hands.

“Who’s that bloody bombshell, then?”

You spy Simon and jog up to him with a smile. He’s the one who embraces you, short but strong. Cue the nigh audible gasping.

“LT, you absolute dog.”

Simon rolls his eyes as the two of you are crowded in short order. You make polite introductions, but have a previous engagement– you really did only have time to stop by.

Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.

Everyone is wondering how this could’ve happened. For the record– I think in this scenario, Johnny and Gaz go through a constant string of heartbreaks, and John is kinda married to his job. So in a cruel twist of fate, Simon is actually the only one currently with a partner, much less a spouse.

“How’d you manage to bag a right beauty like that, LT? C’mon, spill it–”

Simon doesn’t mean to diminish your value or anything, but his answer is not going to be satisfying, because he doesn’t find it that difficult to get women. And also, you’re his true love, so you’re perfect for each other and growing close to you was as easy as breathing. But he doesn’t say that.

“S’not that hard. Remember the stuff she says, don’t keep no secrets… dick ‘er down the way she likes.” He doesn’t mean to be crude about it, but from his perspective, is one of the main reasons why you tolerate him. Soap howls at the response.

He’s telling the truth, though! He has a scarily good memory. Remembers every friend you’ve ever told him about, every movie you’ve ever mentioned, every meal he’s cooked for you and how you liked it. He remembers dates, times, and lists with no issue whatsoever.

And he’s never kept anything from you. He tells you how the fuck he’s feeling, and you return the favor, even if it isn’t pleasant. The only thing he doesn’t mention to you are the gorey details of his work.

And you have never had more of a communicative partner, ironically. There were times in the beginning when he didn’t know all of the ins and outs of coaxing pleasure from your body, so he asked you to show him how you like it. And that scary memory is at work yet again– every sensitive spot, every offhand mention of a kink you’ve not yet explored together, every arch of your spine and clench of your cunt. He’s got it down to a science. Could write novels about making love to you specifically.

What I’m trying to say, at the end of the day, is that Ghost bagged a bad bitch by being autistic.

[astropithecus]

This is central to how the monotheistic religions oppress women, though.

Think about how the story starts - Adam is living in paradise in a perfect union with the divine, Eve shows up with a sweet little apple he can't resist, humanity is damned. The narrative again and again from there is "men are fine until a woman tempts them." Figures like Bathsheba, Delilah, and Jezebel are portrayed as beautiful temptresses that led faithful, exemplary biblical heroes to their downfall. The message is clear - to men we say "your actions aren't your fault, women are devious and will try to lead you astray." To women we say "you have a divine responsibility to regulate the libido of every man you come in contact with. If you do something to tempt a man, even accidentally, you're in as much trouble as he is." Remember, Eve was deceived by the snake in the garden, which means she didn't even know she was doing anything wrong at the time. She got thrown out right alongside Adam, who knowingly and willingly defied the rules about apples.

Since monotheism ensconces the idea of "mind crime" (that is, "sin" isn't just things you do, it can also be things you think; scriptures like Matthew 5:28 say "anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart") even just serving as the inspiration for a lustful thought is a transgression. The only reason "You wore a flattering pair of jeans? Go directly to hell." isn't in the bible is because they hadn't invented jeans yet.

So, in fundamentalist philosophy, this leads to things like wrapping women in veils and stoning 'adulteresses' while the men they 'seduce' are seen as victims. "Causing impure thoughts" is an easy goalpost to move around, too, and is used to control not only how women dress, but what they're allowed to say, where they're allowed to go, and what hobbies they're allowed to enjoy.

I've been following this lady on TikTok who runs an anti-porn account out of what I can only describe as sociological curiosity. Basically, when I first encountered her videos I sniffed out pretty quickly that she was both a) very very cishet and b) a religious conservative and listening to her talk about sex and relationships has become this fascinating window for me into how The Other Side lives.

Like one of the main conceits of her content revolves around the fact that men have to constantly fight against being overcome by lust, which is hilarious to me, someone who has read fanfiction, because acting like cishet men are somehow uniquely prone to being gooners is so deeply ignorant of how anyone outside a religious conservative community lives.

[bloatedandalone04]

My Drug is My Baby

➪the one where you and rafe can’t keep your hands off each other during your honeymoon.

Warnings: kook rafe/pogue reader, swearing, fluff (barely), smut, unprotected sex, semi-public smut, slight exhibition kink, hair pulling, dirty talk, size difference/kink, cock warming i think, spanking (whoops), rafe’s an ass man, i said what i said, he’s also a dom, bc obviously. (all i’ve been thinking about lately is rafe, so i’m doing something about it, yw).

Word Count: 2.5k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Rafe never thought he’d be one to get his life in order or find a nice girl to settle down with and get married to, but here he is in a stunning (and very expensive) resort in Florida with you by his side. 

Wrapped around your finger were two rings, one holding a large, heavy diamond, and the other being a simple wedding band. ‘Simple’, yet it was embedded with smaller diamonds. 

Around Rafe’s finger was a gold band that showed every girl at this resort who gave him the ‘fuck me’ eyes how committed he is to you and only you, and how they could waste their time all they want. He’d be a fucking idiot to ever let you go. 

It was kind of crazy to think that less than a year ago, you were just another Pogue and he was a Kook who vowed to never do more than sleep with someone who was much less privileged than he was, but now he is married to you. Really, the standards of the society pretty much flew right out the window the second he saw you. 

You were drop dead gorgeous, the most beautiful girl Rafe had ever seen. And though his friends told him to not waste his time with someone like you, Rafe was really fucking glad that he promptly ignored them and got you to go on a date with him, because less than four months after that date, you were engaged, and only five months later, you were married. 

And now you were on your honeymoon and even more clingy and touchy than ever. Rafe never thought of himself as a very touchy person, but with you, he wanted to touch you all the time. Holding your hand in stores or on the street, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind when standing in lines, having his arm draped around your shoulders while sitting on the couch, or placing his hand on your thigh while in a car. 

Right now, he was leaning back on a pool lounger with you in his arms, your back pressed against his bare chest as his fingers traced random shapes onto the skin of your stomach. For some reason, ever since that first date, Rafe couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you. You were so much smaller than him, but you fit perfectly against him, he couldn’t help but want to touch you everywhere all the time. 

He had fallen so in love with you in so little time, he wasn’t sure if the honeymoon phase would ever end. And honestly, he didn’t want it to.

The sun was beating down on the both of you, but the breeze from the empty, still pool helped keep you from overheating. You sighed quietly, leaning more against him as you closed your eyes, the sun still very bright even through your sunglasses. “It’s so pretty here, Rae,” you mumbled, turning your head to place a soft kiss to his heated skin. “Makes me want to never leave. I want to stay right here, with you, for the rest of my life.”

That sounded amazing to Rafe, and he wouldn’t mind starting every morning exactly like this for the next week. He’d gone all out on both the wedding and the honeymoon, spending a pretty penny on them to ensure you’d have the best experience during both events. The room you were staying in was huge, and it has a huge bed that Rafe had fucked you in for a solid hour on your first night here.

He couldn’t help it and he couldn’t be blamed. You were his wife now. You were all his.  

Rafe laughed, the deep sound vibrating your back as his breath tickled the shell of your ear. “I’d be more than willing to stay right here if you want to spend the rest of your life on top of me,” he teased, his fingers dipping lower to brush against the inside of your thigh. “We’ve got a whole week ahead of us, baby. A week of doing nothing but this all day. And you’re looking really fucking hot right now.” His other hand moved to grope your breast, his thumb brushing against your nipple through the thin fabric of your bikini top as his lips found your pulse point and kissed it gently. 

“Rae,” you laughed quietly, pressing your thighs together as you leaned back against him more firmly, your sunglasses sliding down your nose until you just decided to take them off. “We’re in public…you can’t say that to me.” Your words were a feeble attempt at teasing him, because he had rented the room that came with the private pool and patio. No one was around to hear you, let alone see you. 

Rafe smirked, licking and sucking at your neck before he lifted his head, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can say whatever the fuck I want to my wife,” he murmured into your ear, his hand sliding back up your thigh until his fingers grazed the edge of your bikini bottoms. His teeth gently tugged at your earlobe as his hand slid beneath the red fabric, his lips curving when he heard your sharp inhale. “Are you forgetting that this place belongs to us for the next eight days? No one’s around to see my pretty girl get all needy for me.”

“Rafe,” you whined, biting down on your lip as you arched your back and subtly spread your thighs a bit wider. You turned your head again and pressed your face against the side of his neck, brushing soft kisses along his skin. “God, you’re so hot, baby.”

Rafe groaned, his cock starting to harden as his fingers slid through your slick folds. “Mmm, you’re so wet for me,” he mumbled, his middle finger dipping inside your wet heat before he pulled it back out and brought it up to his lips for a taste. “So fucking good, baby.”

He leaned in and kissed you deeply as his hands gripped your hips, turning you on his lap so you’re properly straddling him. Slowly, he guided you to grind against him, the outline of his cock evident through the dark fabric of his trunks. 

“Ride me, pretty girl,” he rasped against your mouth, his fingers playing with the thin strings of your bikini on either side of your hips. One pull, and your lower half would be bare, and the thought was becoming more and more appealing to him the longer you moved on top of him. 

“Like this?” You asked, already breathless as you caressed his face in your hands, your clothed pussy rubbing against his cock through the fabric of his shorts. 

Rafe groaned, tipping his head back on the chair. “Exactly like that, baby,” he muttered, his hands gripping your ass as he guided you to move a bit faster. “Just like that.”

The rough fabric of his swimming trunks brushed deliciously against your clit, making you moan a bit louder and brace your hands on his shoulders for more support. 

You were so hot, Rafe couldn’t believe that you were all his. The sexy, shameless woman riding his lap in public was all his. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, leaning up and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue brushed against yours, one of his hands tangling in your hair as he bucked up against you. He broke the kiss, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he grunted, “I need to be inside you, baby. Right now.” 

With that, he wrapped his arms under your thighs and lifted you as he stood up, carrying you towards the sliding doors that lead back into the suite. You squealed, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist as you peppered kisses along his neck. “You love me so much,” you teased, nuzzling your nose behind his ear as he slid the door closed behind him, not bothering to close the curtains as he walked over to the bed and pulled at the strings of your bikini bottoms, letting the damp fabric fall to the floor. 

“Yeah, I fucking do,” he agreed, giving your ass a firm squeeze before tossing you onto the king sized bed. You bounced a bit as you tried to steady yourself, a needy whine of excitement leaving your lips.  “Get on your knees for me, baby.”

When you quickly turned around and braced yourself up on your hands and knees, Rafe stepped towards the bed, one of his hands running along the length of your spine. His other hand came down onto your ass, giving it a sharp smack that made a loud moan slip past your lips. 

God, you were so fucking sexy and so perfect for him, Rafe would never get enough. “That’s for getting me so addicted to you,” he mumbled before pulling at the strings of his shorts and pushing them down his legs. He propped one knee up on the bed next to yours, keeping one foot planted firmly on the floor as gripped your waist. “You’re so perfect, aren’t you? My perfect girl.” 

Rafe gripped the base of his cock with one hand, running his length along your wet folds before bumping his tip against your clit a few times. “Rae,” you whined, clearly getting more and more riled up from his teasing. 

He smirked before guiding himself inside you, your soaked walls making him slide in with ease. Rafe groaned, his teeth sinking into his lip as he refrained from railing you like he wanted to. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, his palm soothing your reddening skin from his previous smack. 

When he pulled back nearly all the way and then slid right back in, you let out a loud moan, your hands fisting the sheets of the unmade bed. “Fuck,” you whimpered, your head falling forward as he began to slowly fuck you from behind. 

“That’s it, baby,” Rafe grunted, moving his hips in slow, deep thrusts as he pulled at the string of your top, making the fabric hang loosely from your neck before you tugged it off and tossed it aside carelessly. 

He leaned down and pushed your hair to the side so he could press open mouthed kisses to the back of your neck, one of his hands reaching around to squeeze your breast. His grip on your waist tightened as he increased the pace, the soft slap of skin on skin filling the room as he began to pound into you. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. So wet and tight for me,” he panted, leaning over you as he changed the angle just slightly. Your moans grew louder, your arms shaking a bit as his cock reached even deeper inside you, making his lips turn upwards in a smug smirk. “You like that, pretty girl? You love being stuffed full of me, don’t you?”

Rafe’s mouth was filthy both in and out of the bedroom, something he knew you loved, and that was very obvious from the way you clenched around him and got even louder. “Yes,” you answered, your body jolting forward with every deep thrust. “Fuck…yes.”

It was hard to believe that ten minutes ago, you were simply in his arms by the pool, and now here you are, on your hands and knees for him as he railed you from behind, your body completely bare for his greedy eyes and hands. His perfect little wife.

“Fuck, listen to those pretty noises you’re making,” he grunted, his hand gripping your waist tightly as he guided you back onto his cock. You were so tight, he could literally see the way your walls hugged him and took him in so deep every time he entered you, and the sight had his abs tensing as he groaned loudly. His free hand slid up your back until he had a fistful of your hair, and he tugged your head back just enough for you to feel it but not hard enough to hurt you. 

The bed, though sturdy, clearly wasn’t prepared for the rough fucking Rafe planned to give you every day for the next week since it creaked with every thrust, and he briefly wondered just how many honeymoon’s this suite had seen, and how many horny newly-weds this bed had fallen victim to. 

One thing he knew for sure was that you were the prettiest bride that had ever and will ever stay in this room, and he was one lucky fucker. 

When he gave your hair a sharp tug, you let out a whiny moan and clenched around him again, and Rafe knew you were close. “Yeah, that’s it. Cum for me, baby,” he rasped, speeding up even more until you were mumbling and moaning incoherently as your head tipped back onto his shoulder. He kissed all over the side of your neck and face as you came on his cock, his grip on your hair loosening as he fucked you through your high. 

“Rae,” you whimpered, shaking in his arms as you relied solely on him to keep you upright. 

“I got you, sweet girl,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw as he slowed his pace, his own high creeping up on him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, baby. You feel too good.” 

Your face turned a faint shade of pink as you leaned your head back on his shoulder, your arm lifting up as you tangled your fingers in his hair. “Cum for me, Rafe,” you encouraged weakly, nearly limp in his arms as you trembled from the sensitivity. 

His hand groped your breast, his thumb and index finger gently pinching your nipple as he buried himself as deep as physically possible and emptied himself inside you. “Fuck,” he grunted, pressing his face against the side of your neck as his hips jerked and stuttered, his cock filling you up with ropes of white. 

Once you had drained him of every drop, Rafe’s hand released your breast as his arm wrapped around your middle, slowly guiding you back on the bed as he leaned over you. 

“You’re so perfect, baby. I love you so fucking much, more than anything,” he mumbled, peppering your sweaty shoulder in kisses as he carefully rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so he was holding you from behind. “Stay just like this…I don’t wanna pull out yet.”

His words were slurred as his body still thrummed with the aftershocks, his big hand splayed across your stomach as he nuzzled his face against your neck. You hummed, pressing yourself more firmly against him. “Then stay inside me,” you mumbled, “We’ll stay like this for as long as you want to.” 

Rafe grinned lazily, holding you close to him. “I’m gonna hold you like this forever,” he said, his voice muffled against your neck as his thumb stroked along your stomach. “Never letting you go.”

Even though it was just past noon, you both had grown rather tired from that intense workout you just got finished doing. A quick nap sounded fucking amazing right now, especially if he got to stay connected with you and have your body wrapped up in his arms the whole time. 

This was heaven, Rafe decided, and he never wanted to go a single day without you ever again. 

And luckily, he would never have to.

[hauntedfictionland]

❝Euphoria❞

☾︎✰❛❀ Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem! Reader!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jacaerys loves you. But he cannot have you. And it is killing him slowly.

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Heartbreak, one sided feelings and lots of tears.

🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: In this timeline, Rhaenyra never moves to dragonstone so reader and Jacaerys grow together because I didn't really know how to fit it otherwise. It's something shorter than what I would usually write.

Jacaerys significantly remembers the first moment he fell in love with you. You, Aegon and Aemond's sister, younger than the eldest but older than Daeron. Kind of in the middle really but you fell in the youngest ones. After Criston had urged Aegon to spar with him, and ser Harwin Strong saved him, you came. He had been sitting in the garden with an oak tree above, a frown on his lips and a cut on his left cheek by one of Aegon's kicks. And you walked up to him. That same glow on your face and a light that didn't seem to be there until you arrived.

He never really noticed you until that moment. Jacaerys was the first born son of his mother. The heir after heir. While you were the fourth child, after Haelena and of course, Aemond. You weren't a son. Or a first born daughter. He didn't seem to have any particular reason to talk to you. But that evening changed it forever.

You bend down towards him, a comforting smile on your lips. He watches as you ruffle his hair, so gently it sends shivers down his skin. You were called the pink doe, because of how kind you were. And you wore pink and white most of the time. And of course, very beautiful. He never noticed it until that moment. How? he didn't know. Jacaerys was a child, but he could feel love. You pull out a white flower from behind you, tucking it behind his ear.

Jacaerys closed his eyes when you pressed your lips to his ear, right where the cut was. And suddenly he can't even feel the pain anymore. Not when there was you. And there was euphoria.

He started paying a lot more attention to you afterwards. In fact, you, were all that he had on his mind. How you laughed, the blushes on your cheeks when someone—especially Aemond, complimented you, or when your embroidery got noticed by your mother. The queen Alicent. He noticed it all. And Jacaerys couldn't get it out of his head. He figured it was a phase, that he'd eventually grow out of it, yet years passed by, you both turned ten and three and he was speechless when you would show up in a golden and red dress at some family dinner, then fourteen came and your scent, vanilla and rosemary, stuck in his nose when air blew and your gorgeously blonde hair waved in his face.

And then fifteen came, when he finally accepted the fact he was oh so inevitably and irreversibly in love with you. Everything about you, he would accept. That you were a green, that your brothers were Aegon and Aemond. And even if you were like them, like the hightowers—which you weren't, you were the kindest and most gentle heart he had ever met, but even if you were, he would accept it with open arms. Because you, to him, were his great love. His euphoria. A feeling he always felt with you.

A dream. Because one day becoming king, and you, to rule by his side? to be his queen? it was a dream. And it was the best and most beautiful one he wished for. However little did he know, it would only stay a dream.

Because one windy day, right when he wanted to ask you to marry him, right under that same oak tree, you told him something that broke him in two.

You were betrothed to Aemond.

“What?” his heart falls, throat swelling dry. He can barely speak.

“Our mother arranged it. She thought he and I made good company and...” you sigh, your eyes closed as you smiled, “I've loved him for so long. It finally feels a dream come true.”

Oh. He watched as you look so in love, just with the thought of him. Just like how he looks thinking of you. He watched as a feast was thrown in the celebration of both your betrothal, he watched as you dance with each other, his hands on your waist and a gleaming smile on your lips, he watched as you take your wedding vows, and share a kiss. He watched Aemond claim his euphoria and love it like he was the one meant to be with you. Not him.

Jacaerys never imagined himself crying under that same oak tree after your wedding was over. He also never thought he would cry himself sleep, pillow soaking in tears you caused. He never thought he would get betrothed to any other that wasn't you. Well, Baela now, looked joyed to be his future wife. And the future queen. Yet he can't stop thinking about the crowns you both would have worn. The children you both could have had. The love you both could have shared. He can't stop thinking about his euphoria.

And he doubts he ever would stop.

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛! 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒.

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Morning Routines

Kind of a part 2 to the Sleeping Habits Post??? While that one is about falling asleep with them, this one is about what its like to wake up with them. Same lineup; Alastor, Vox, and Lucifer. I... also might have accidentally started a Charlie one so I might be doing more parts to these (｡ŏ_ŏ)

Contents/WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader; NSFW in Vox's section; mostly just nuclear powered fluff; somebody PLEASE get Lucifer a doctor the man is so depressed (18+), MDNI, NSFW below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Alastor ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

As gone over in my sleeping habits post, Alastor does not like sharing a bed normally. But if it does happen to be a blue moon and he actually stayed the whole night; it is a sight to behold in the morning.

Alastor's hair is naturally curly. Due to internalized racism (from you know, the 1920s), Alastor insists his hair must be straight and has a crazy hair routine to keep it that way. One of many reasons why his hair is so... gnarly looking.

Right after he wakes up in the mornings though, his bedhead breaks through the illusion. You get to see the glorious sight of Alastor's hair attempting to go back to its natural form. The edges of his locks are making small loops in all directions, and his face is framed in loose ringlets.

Unfortunately, this only lasts for about ten minutes at most before he goes to "fix" it.

Other then getting to see that beautiful sight, the mornings are the same regardless of if he stayed in the bed with you or not; You always get to wake up to his wonderful cooking.

Alastor has unfortunately had to take it upon himself to be the hotel chef. Charlie did try to do it for a little bit, but that resulted in more fires and ambiguous remains then anything. Vaggie and Husk can barely operate a microwave. Nifty is well... Nifty.

So Alastor pops into the hotel kitchen at around 7am to start cooking breakfast for the hotel. More 7:30 if his hair has been particularly unruly that day.

Alastor pokes fun at everyone over being their chef, but he really likes it actually. He will never admit that to anyone though. He finds the mornings relaxing because he gets to just cook, something that he enjoys and thats deeply nostalgic for him. It starts him off on the right foot for the day.

The only times it starts him on the wrong foot, is when Lucifer decides to get up at an ungodly hour (or straight up pull an all nighter), just so he can steal the kitchen and make the hotel breakfast instead.

Lucifer does this because he thinks he is a better chef then Alastor. Surely, Alastor's annoyance is proof of that! But Alastor is actually pissed off because his plans for the morning got set on fire by Lucifer's dumb ego.

Alastor really does go above and beyond as the chef by the way. For a cannibal, you would never expect how respectful he is of everyone's dietary preferences. If your a vegetarian, or even a vegan, Alastor won't blow you off. He will make something for everyone that still works for you, or just make you something special. He sees it less as you having a dietary restriction and more as a challenge of his skills.

Anyways, thanks to Alastor, mornings at the hotel are always extremely nice. Everyone comes down to eat together, hang out, and just be. Its a tranquil time and atmosphere that he has taken great care to cultivate. Sets him up perfectly mentally for his afternoon radio shows.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Vox ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Vox always wakes up with a big sigh. He is very much that type of person whose first thought when waking up is, 'goddamn it, I woke up'. Hates leaving the bed but knows he has to.

At least Vox stops having those thoughts when you become apart of his life.

If your still in the bed when he wakes up, Vox is immediately comforted by your weight on his chest. He cant help but smile as his arms tighten around you. One of Vox's hands starts absentmindedly carding through your hair as he goes over everything he has to do that day in his head.

If your not in the bed when Vox wakes up, it completely fucks with his mind. His sleeping body does not register you moving or getting up at all. So from Vox's perspective, you were in his arms one second then... not. Vox will wake up to you not there and be super confused. He will legit start looking for you like a puppy.

Depending on your relationship status with him, Vox might even just assume that he dreamt/hallucinated the whole encounter with you. Only realizing that it actually happened upon outside evidence.

Operating on the assumption that you two are a thing; Vox now tries to keep his mornings flexible because of you. They used to be very regimented. Vox would wake up, get dressed, grab a coffee, then be right out the door to head to work. But now that your here, the mornings are much more relaxed.

When you first move in, Vox's first order of business is to hire a personal chef. Don't get me wrong, Vox loves it when you cook for him. The guy absolutely melts when you do. But the reality is he loves it a little... too much. Which often results in no breakfast actually being had because Vox ends up dragging you back to the bedroom. Of course, that's if he doesn't end up fucking you right on the counter or kitchen table.

Look. Seeing you by the stove in an apron just does something to him, alright?

If you ever even asked Vox if he knew how to cook, the guy would probably bluescreen. The only thing he knows how to ""cook"" is 'takeout'. (image included) If he tried to boil an egg, he would burn the water.

So yeah. Vox takes initiative to get you two a chef. He doesn't want you to have to cook for him anyway; he wants it to be an act of love rather then an obligation. If you push Vox and say you want to cook for him, he will making heart eyes and be ready to marry you on the spot.

Seriously. Make him cute, homemade lunches for work. Vox will brag about them to everyone. Put adorable love notes in there and everything. The guy will be on his knees.

Regardless of who actually made the breakfast, Vox always has it with you. He may be a busy man, but he makes sure this is a time you get him exclusively. Vox lets you know of his schedule for the day (assuming Valentino doesnt set it on fire ofc) and when he plans on being home.

When Vox leaves for work he actually has a genuine smile on his face. Don't get me wrong, he still hates it and cant wait to get back home to you. But Vox doesn't feel that same crushing dread that he did before.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Lucifer ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

It used to be so hard to get up for him. It wasn't uncommon for Lucifer to just wallow in bed for an entire day. But now that your here, everything has changed. Lucifer actually has a reason to get up in the mornings again. He used to just go back to sleep and pretend the world doesn't exist.

He is a morningbird by nature, so he often wakes up before you. However, Lucifer hates leaving your arms and the cozy bed. So one of two things happens depending on how he is feeling.

If Lucifer is feeling good, or just particularly lovey that morning; he will pull you extra close to him and start kissing all over you. You'll wake up to the wonderful feeling of fleeting kisses and his smile on your skin. No better way to start the day.

As soon as he notices your awake, Lucifer moves to place quick, chaste kisses all over your face. All while asking, "How are you feeling, Ducky?", "Did you sleep okay?", "Have any fun dreams?".

Lucifer looks at you with the most adoring look in his eyes, desperate to snuggle and feel your skin on his. He wants to listen to you talk about anything and everything.

After awhile of cuddling and pillow talk, you have to be the one to convince Lucifer to get up. He will playfully whine and try to keep you in the bed, but he won't keep it up for long. Lucifer also cant wait to make you a wonderful breakfast and talk more while he cooks too~

Lucifer is a chatterbox when he wants to be. Especially with someone he loves. He basically wants to imbibe your entire being; that includes getting to know every random thought you have and every dark corner of your mind.

But if Lucifer feels the weight of depression weighing him down that morning, he simply snuggles deeper into you when he wakes. His grip on you tightens, and he pulls the sheets tighter around you two. Like he is building a cocoon or trying to shield you both from the outside.

Sometimes you can tell as soon as he wakes up that he is in a bad state. Instead of kisses, you are woken up by the trembling of his small form. Shaking with unshed tears and fresh pain from old wounds.

Lucifer clings to you desperately; the grip of his claws threatening to break your skin. You have to physically force him away from you just so you can look him in the eyes. Even then, Lucifer whimpers and tries to hug you tighter in protest.

He will begin to plead with you. Saying things like "Don't leave me" or "Please stay". You kiss him gently and bring him into your chest as he finally begins to sob. You two stay there for a long time. Lucifer is extra clingy that day. Attached to you at the hip and always holding your hand in his. His heart rate picks up and he starts to get frantic if your fingers slip out of his.

Mornings with Lucifer are overall just very slow. Meandering. Lucifer's safe place has become the bed since the heights of his depression, so he is reluctant to leave it. Some dark part of him feels that the longer he can keep you in bed, the longer he wont have to say an inevitable 'goodbye'.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

FURTHER READING ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Its a super silly idea, but I love >>THIS POST<< by @antiheroalastor where you find out Alastor has a extensive skincare routine.

Cute imagine by @voxisdaddy where Vox has to cuddle you to fall asleep can be found >>HERE<<

Then something more spicy, >>HERE<< are some ADORABLE Lucifer aftercare headcanons by @redr0sewrites. Rose writes the rambling, dorky, disaster Lucifer that I have envisioned in my head PERFECTLY.

[dresshistorynerd]

The Morrisian case against fast fashion

Today I discovered that H&M made a William Morris collection some years ago. The heath death of the universe can't come quickly enough. We can stop now. Satire is dead and we killed her.

It's not just the whole concept of H&M using William Morris' designs for their fast fashion which is insanity inducing, but also the critical response it garnered. Like sure, people did realize this is insane and there was a lot of think pieces about it at the time, but I read several of them and they all seem to still miss the point in spectacular way.

The basic premise of these think pieces go along the lines of: "Would William Morris spin in his grave with a speed of light because of the H&M collection of his designs? A difficult question indeed. William Morris was a complicated man. He wanted art to be affordable to everyone. Isn't H&M affordable? That kinda fits. Though probably he would have some concerns about H&M's practices."

On the surface - yes - but like in reality - fuck no. There's no nuance in this particular issue. He talked about many times what he though of the H&Ms of his time, the retailers selling poor quality industrially produced "fashionable" bullshit. We know exactly what he would have thought of H&M. Here's couple of quotes from his 1884 lecture "Art and Socialism", which makes it very clear.

"It would be an instructive day's work for any one of us who is strong enough to walk through two or three of the principal streets of London on a week-day, and take accurate note of everything in the shop windows which is embarrassing or superfluous to the daily life of a serious man. Nay, the most of these things no one, serious or unserious, wants at all; only a foolish habit makes even the lightest-minded of us suppose that he wants them, and to many people even of those who buy them they are obvious encumbrances to real work, thought and pleasure. But I beg you to think of the enormous mass of men who are occupied with this miserable trumpery, from the engineers who have had to make the machines for making them, down to the hapless clerks who sit day-long year after year in the horrible dens wherein the wholesale exchange of them is transacted, and the shopmen, who not daring to call their souls their own, retail them amidst numberless insults which they must not resent, to the idle public which doesn't want them but buys them to be bored by them and sick to death of them."

He is describing the birth of consumerism, which was taking form during his lifetime in the late Victorian Era, which fast fashion is the extreme logical conclusion of, and he fucking hated it. He specifically railed against endless consumerist products, which H&M is the perfect representation of. It was definitely not the art and beauty he believed everyone required and deserved. He makes the distinction often.

"Now if we are to have popular Art, or indeed Art of any kind, we must at once and for all be done with this luxury; it is the supplanter, the changeling of Art; so much so that by those who know of nothing better it has even been taken for Art, the divine solace of human labour, the romance of each day's hard practice of the difficult art of living."

"And here furthermore is at least a little sign whereby to distinguish between a rag of fashion and a work of Art: whereas the toys of fashion when the first gloss is worn off them do become obviously worthless even to the frivolous—a work of Art, be it ever so humble, is long lived; we never tire of it; as long as a scrap hangs together it is valuable and instructive to each new generation. All works of Art in short have the property of becoming venerable amidst decay: and reason good, for from the first there was a soul in them, the thought of man, which will be visible in them so long as the body exists in which they were implanted."

When he thought of popular Art he thought of the craftsmanship of the common people. The art people have made from useful everyday objects with skillful handicrafts. This is what he means by "divine solace of human labour". It's not reverence of Puritanical work ethic, on the contrary, it's the reverence of creation, of the earnest joy people feel when they get to express themselves through their creative pursuits. He certainly didn't believe in work for work's sake, work needed to be worthwhile and enjoyable. He summarized his own position on what labour should be thusly:

"It is right and necessary that all men should have work to do which shall be worth doing, and be of itself pleasant to do; and which should he done under such conditions as would make it neither over-wearisome nor over-anxious."

He urged his middle class audience to reject consumerism (the lecture was for a very much middle class atheist society):

"For I say again that in buying these things: 'Tis the lives of men you buy! Will you from mere folly and thoughtlessness make yourselves partakers of the guilt of those who compel their fellow men to labour uselessly?"

I think it's glaringly obvious H&M and fast fashion in general is what he would consider luxury. Rags of fashion that are just churned out and discarded without thought and produced by compelling people to labour uselessly. It's not popular art that's made by workers and craftsmen, who are able to express themselves through it. There's no agency for the abused workers in H&M's sweatshops, they are not expressing their joy of creation, they are simply labouring uselessly.

Morris didn't shame workers for buying affortable things even if they weren't Art with big A, because that's the problem he despised the whole economic system for, for taking away the popular Art from people, making it inaccessible, and selling back mass produced products with very little practical or aesthetic value. So I don't think he would have problem with people who can only afford fast fashion today. They are the victims of capitalism too, because Art has been taken away from them. But the idea that some of these think pieces had that perhaps the H&M's Morris collection can be good actually if you squint, that H&M has the capacity to bring the art and beauty Morris advocated for for the people, is level of stupidity that's hard to express in words.

Morris didn't believe anything made with exploited labour could be truly beautiful, truly art. In his 1879 lecture "The Art of the People" he put it like this:

"That thing which I understand by real art is the expression by man of his pleasure in labour."

The way I understand this, is that art is communication. Through it we communicate feelings, ideas and thoughts, that is it's purpose. So for that communication to work, for it to be imbued with message, the person making it needs to feel passion and love for it's creation. How can there be love and passion if the hands making the garment belong to a tired exploited worker who has no agency what so ever in their work and can only think about survival to the next day?

Beyond the fundamental exploitativeness of H&M and fast fashion, this collection would still get zero points on aesthetic values from Morris even with his own designs. Because the work itself was such an important part of art for Morris, good design was nothing without good craftsmanship. Good design in his mind was always relative and dependent on it's purpose.

"For everything made by man’s hands has a form, which must be either beautiful or ugly; beautiful if it is in accord with Nature, and helps her; ugly if it is discordant with Nature, and thwarts her; it cannot be indifferent." (The Lesser Arts, 1877)

Here when he says nature, he means the nature of the thing that is made - basically it's purpose and function - and the nature of the materials it's made from. Basically, the design must always be made to bring out the function of the art and the qualities of the material it's made from, not fight against them. This is because he believed handicrafts were uniquely suitable for expressing the love of creation, therefore superior labour, and to really bring out the qualities of the craftsmanship and enjoy the creative process, the design should be suitable for that craft. The other side, which was the joy of using and experiencing art, required the craft to be selected for the suitable purpose. Using poorly functioning furniture for example is not very enjoyable, nor is using clothing that's made from materials that are not suitable for the climactic conditions it's supposed to be used in.

H&M of course utterly fails in this. They use Morris' designs in fully unsuitable ways. They print patterns made for example for wall papers on poor quality fabrics with synthetics dyes they weren't made for. This line from one blog post I came across really got me: "Therefore, without cheapening the artistic value of Morris’ designs, H&M’s collection offers an unparalleled potential for accessibility to them." No. Fuck no. They do in fact cheapen Morris' designs in every single way possible. Literally this is atrocious.

Despite the popular depiction, Morris wasn't in fact against industrial machinery or industrial art even, or at least he wasn't once his views on art and politics matured. He did think technology was useful, but he thought the people should use industrial methods for the benefit of all, not be enslaved by the industrial machine.

"I have spoken of machinery being used freely for releasing people from the more mechanical and repulsive part of necessary labour; and I know that to some cultivated people, people of the artistic turn of mind, machinery is particularly distasteful, and they will be apt to say you will never get your surroundings pleasant so long as you are surrounded by machinery. I don't quite admit that; it is the allowing machines to be our masters and not our servants that so injures the beauty of life nowadays. In other words, it is the token of the terrible crime we have fallen into of using our control of the powers of Nature for the purpose of enslaving people, we care less meantime of how much happiness we rob their lives of." ("How we live and how we might live", 1887)

However, he thought that the designer should approach it the way they approached any craft, by designing for the strengths of the machine work.

"But if you have to design for machine-work, at least let your design show clearly what it is. Make it mechanical with a vengeance, at the same time as simple at possible. Don't try, for instance, to make a printed plate look like a hand-painted one: make it something which no one would try to do if he were painting by hand..." ("Art and the Beauty of the Earth", 1881)

He did use some machinery for fabric and wall paper printing, but he was very intentional about their use. Still his designs weren't made for the type of methods these modern H&M machinery uses and he did for example use natural dyes. Particularly insulting is that some of the H&M clothes are made from viscose, rayon made with viscose method. Viscose method is extremely toxic and is known to cause long term health consequences for the workers and the people in surrounding areas. This has been well proven knowledge for ages. William Morris' wall paper factory in the beginning used the typical method used at the time which involved arsenic, but once he learned this could pose risks for the workers, he changed the method. Many of the new synthetic dyes were toxic at the time, which is the major reason he so favoured natural dyes, known to not cause health issues for workers or pollute the environment.

The question many of these think pieces about the H&M Morris collection posed was, would Morris disapprove and should we care? The first part of that is very easy to answer. Yes. Of course Morris would disapprove. He is currently powering the whole of British Isles with purely the kinetic energy his grave-spinning produces. Should we care though? If you care about Morris' art, if you want to see more of that kind of art in this world, you should care. Morris' art is not about the superficial qualities. Copying his designs and aesthetics and styles, will only lead to hollow imitations, that are exactly what he described the rags of fashion to be; as the shininess of novelty wears off they will reveal themselves to be soulless, useless and utterly empty. This collection is just that. To see more of the kind of art that makes you feel like his art makes you feel, not just something that reminds you of that feeling, you should focus more on the way the art is made and less on the specific aesthetics. If his vision of labour and art was realised, all art produced of course wouldn't be loved by every person, but all of it would be loved by someone, even if that someone was just the maker. And that would be more worthwhile than every single rag of fast fashion.

I will stop William-Morris-posting now and return to my thesis.

The full texts I quoted here:

Art and Socialism The Art of the People The Lesser Arts How We Live and How We Might Live Art and the Beauty of the Earth

[ghostgirl-22]

Vibrator!Anon you made me write this too for some reason lol. Not coherent but I figured I’d share it anyway. More random boys objectifying Art and him (and Patrick) losing his mind over it.

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Bimbofication

—-

The thing about Art that really drives Patrick crazy is how empty headed he gets when he’s horny. Generally Art is a very smart and competent person but when his dick is hard it’s like he goes brain dead. And suddenly he’s silly, dumb, sluttystupid.

Once Patrick made him wear a bra under his uniform during their state doubles final.

“Just a training bra since you’re starting to blossom into such a beautiful girl,” Patrick teased at breakfast. Art kicked him hard under the table scowling (which fair, but it wasn’t Patrick’s fault he was bad at bowling).

The match goes well until midway through the second set when Patrick basically becomes the only functioning player. And Art for some (obvious) reason ends up in lala land. They still win. The other team didn’t really stand a chance.

The whole match Patrick’s hard and it’s fueling him. He doesn’t slow down for one second immediately after the match, when he shoves himself into the bathroom stall and jerks it so hard and fast that he gets light headed as he comes.

And then there’s Art.

The other guys on their team tease him for losing the bet. They lift his shirt to see the bra. Tell him his tits look good. One of them even goes as far as to push Art up against the locker and pretend to kiss him. And maybe Patrick never should’ve blabbed about it to them. He’s only got his stupid big mouth to blame for why Art’s all flushed as they tease him. Flustered and dizzy and… horny. Patrick can read it all over him after countless nights in their dorm room “messing around.”

Art goes silly. Barely able to focus. It’s like he’s drunk. Dropping things. Can’t find his towel, can’t find his phone, cant figure out how to re-wrap his racket. “I think I wanna shower at home.” He says distractedly.

“You should be in the girls locker room,” one of their classmates teases and pinches his nipple even though he’s not wearing the bra any more. “Shuddup,” Art says, pushing him off. The guy just laughs and tries to grab the other one.

Patrick knows Art is steps away from touching himself, the real reason he needs to go back to the dorm. It’s lucky he wore briefs or everyone would see it the way Patrick can. That he can’t stand still, can’t sit still.

Patrick has to do everything for him. Pack up his rackets, and his clothes, and all his gear. Everything. While he sits there, dumb pretty, eyes glassy, fingering the lace bra and flirting with their teammates as they objectify him.

The only openly gay kid on the team smirks at Patrick after he gets away with calling Art pretty, fingers tangled in his hair and Arts following the touch.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Come on, let’s go Art,” he snaps, only mildly irritated at how fucking easy Art is right now.

“Yeah let’s go,” Art says, getting to his feet. Eyes dilated, not a coherent thought in his head.

“Pick up your bag,” Patrick says, slowly like he’s talking to a kindergartener.

“Oh,” Art laughs.

Hell Patrick even has to guide Art back to the room because Art has no idea where he is or what’s going on.

It’s not until he’s fucking into Patricks fist up against their bedroom door that he feels like a real boy again. Whining and rambling that he’s so sorry about how he played but it’s all Patricks fault for making him wear lace. Because he couldn’t focus because of the way it moved over his nipples. And he didn’t know they were so sensitive. And honestly, neither did Patrick.

So Patrick starts licking, teasing, abusing them just to be rewarded with the prettiest sounds he’s ever heard Art or anyone make.

And Art finishes sloppy in Patrick’s hand, on the floor on Patrick’s t-shirt. Desperate and panting. Mirroring what Patrick did in the bathroom stall right after the game.

“You really do have the prettiest tits,” Patrick teases, licking his fingers.

“‘m not doing that again,” Art says, much more lucid.

Patrick smirks. “Then next time I guess you better win.”

[missingininaction]

alright, friends, i might say something you don't like but i think it's important. not just to defend a character, but because i think this is literally making people's experience and relationship with this game worse.

give jimmy like two seconds to exist.

by hating jimmy so much you refuse to even say his name, and judge real, living people for liking him, you are cheapening your experience by boiling down the main character to the most ~yuckiest~ moments. and, by not making a seperate space for hating on him, you are drowning out the voices of people who actually have nuanced things to say about his character. you know, the skilled writers and artists that feed the fandom? limitation is what kills fandoms, you have to know that.

is jimmy a good person? no. is he a good captain/companion/worker? Absolutely Not! he crumbles like dust under any pressure and he immediately shifts blame off of himself, he is an actively harmful individual and it's right to be upset by his actions. i literally had to stop myself from saying "man FUCK jimmy." multiple times because i didn't want to spoil how terrible he got to my friends when i showed the game to them.

but you have to understand; people are more than their actions. thats part of the entire point of the game. thats why its so abstract. you are meant to think about the nuances of their situation.

we can agree that anya was way more as a woman than what happened to her and what she did as a result of it, right? that despite her best efforts, she was a victim of circumstance, and she deserves to be understood and analyzed fully?

then why, seeing a fictional man who has done immoral things, are you so disgusted you won't even draw, write or discuss him outside of hate? what is that doing for you, to ignore literally the main character of the game because of his actions?

now, this is not to say people can't hate jimmy. i understand it! as someone who has been a victim of s/a and abuse, i understand if you hate him and are even triggered by him to the point of avoiding mention of him. (but...why are you in this fandom? ((not aggressive im genuinely asking)))

you can feel however you want about any character, my goal is not to control people. but i thought it was common knowledge to not hatepost about someone in their tag? over actual insight into his character and, you know, the main themes of the game?

jimmy is a man who has struggled his whole life. both him and curly confirm that in the game. he's unable to control his emotional outbursts, and he likely had no idea what to expect from being in fucking SPACE for over a year with people he probably didn't even know before that trip. and pony express and their corporate safety corner cutting certainly didnt help, did it?

for one reason or another, he most likely was never actually taught how to manage his emotions. that's just how it is sometimes, growing up as a man. and it would make sense if he was forced to deal with everything himself, no? he always complains, but he still says he'll handle it. because that's what he's always had to do. and this is just the start of what i could say about what made him the way that he is.

he's a victim too, not only of his own actions.

surprise surprise, people who do awful things can also be victims.

honestly, this entire situation baffles me. how are you going to avoid one of the main characters of the game, let alone the one you play as ninety percent of the time? mind you, curly is also guilty, and i am happy to see at least some people giving him space for nuance. because he is also a victim!!! why is it so impossible to see jimmy as nuanced, when literally every other character also has incredible depth to them??

you're tarnishing and spitting on the beautiful writing of this game just because one character is too icky for you to feel comfortable thinking about for too long. it's horror, you absolute morons. it's supposed to make you uncomfortable.

if you hate jimmy, i dont blame you. but please, please, make your own space for it. be kind to people who want to explore jimmy and the darker themes, and like him for what his character represents. this is a video game fandom, not a witch hunt. and please, learn some fandom etiquette while you're at it, okay? okay. thank you

also just say his name. its not a slur youre not gonna go to hell if you say jimmy. like this isn't as important but still it just feels like a microcosm of this whole thing.

[bring-forth-his-sac]

All The Way

Summary: You’ve always told yourself the reason you would never hook up with Negan is because of his uncommitted, womanizer personality, but after a steamy night together, the tables turn and you’re the one running.

Is this the aftermath of a one night stand, or the beginning of something new?

Pairing: Saviors Era Negan x f!reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Tags: !NSFW! smut, one night stand, morning after, emotionally stunted idiots in love, hypocrisy, alcohol consumption, shame and conflicting emotions

Everything hurts... well, one area in particular. 

Without moving, you know he’s there. His steady breath against the side of your neck tells you he’s still asleep, having not moved an inch from the night before. 

There’s a part of you that’s truly relieved to have woken up first. You didn’t really think this part through but making sure he stays asleep seems like a good start.

Despite the warm bed practically begging you to stay, you cautiously slide yourself out from the sheets. You keep your movements slow and practical, taking as much time as necessary to remove Negan’s arm from your torso.

There’s not a doubt in your mind that Negan would make this whole ‘morning after’ thing a living nightmare for you, and so taking your leave now is the best solution.

Once you grab your clothes, the rest is easy. Hiking your panties and jeans back up, you notice two empty glasses on his nightstand. You remember only having one drink last night but you nursed it throughout, wanting to take the edge off. 

Negan had about two glasses of whiskey, which made him more talkative than usual — if that’s even possible. What started off as you venting to him, slowly turned into him venting to you and then, somehow, you both ended up bed.

As much as you want to regret your choices, you can’t. There’s something undeniably magnetic about Negan, a charisma that pulls you in like a moth to a flame. His laughter is contagious and when he flashes you that big grin, the rest of the world fades away. 

That’s what last night felt like, as if it was just the two of you left in the world, too busy enjoying your bubble of shared giggles to care. Even with his reputation as a womanizer, you can’t help but feel a warmth in your chest when his attention is on you.

You know Negan wouldn’t hurt you on purpose but he’s a man with not just one, but multiple wives. He has always been vocal about having no issue with getting more wives but that just isn’t you. 

Up until last night, that’s why you were hesitant to get involved with him. It’s why you would ignore the glimmer in his eyes whenever he looked at you, chalking it up to being a part of his game.

Now that the inevitable has finally happened, here you are, scrambling to cover your tracks and trying to erase the memories of the night before. You already know that you’ll be another notch on his bedpost, another woman for him to smirk at in the hallways as you both reminisce about your short lived fling. 

Congrats, you're just another woman Negan successfully talked into bed. 

Sure, you held out a lot longer than most but it still happened. You can feel your cheeks warming up as you sneak out of his room and down the corridor. Skipping some of the steps as you hop down the stairs, you let out a long sigh…

Negan licked his lips, his voice low and husky. “You’re so beautiful when you let yourself go, Sweetness,” he encouraged, his hand moving to cup one of your breasts. As he scattered light kisses up the side of your face, he promised to make up for the “damn shitty day” you had dealing with some of the other Saviors.

Nope. You shake your head, snapping yourself back to the present. Last night is something you do not need to replay in your head. 

When you make it to the lower level of the Sanctuary, you’re met with swarms of people going about their daily business. Shit, you don’t even know what time it is!

Walking swiftly to the makeshift cafeteria, you ignore the dull ache in your lower stomach. The humid air clings to your skin, making your clothes stick uncomfortably.

As you pass the workers already prepping for lunch, you realise you’ve completely missed breakfast. A grunt escapes your lips as you see no food, not even any scraps left from the morning rush. 

Once you both made it to the bed, clothes were carelessly tossed everywhere. “Now, how about we move onto the main course, hm?” he smirked, his hand sliding down your body and teasingly brushing against your sensitive folds “That what you want, baby?”.

Negan chuckled at your eager moan in response, his fingers finally entering your wet heat. He pumped his fingers in and out, stretching your tight opening and making you perform a symphony of whimpers. He was in no hurry, knowing he had all night to take his time. Negan brought his mouth to your ear, whispering the filthiest sweet nothings you’ve ever heard.

Shaking your head, you almost tell yourself out loud to stop. Yes, it’s a good idea to think about something else to distract yourself from the hunger but don’t think about that!

Negan groaned, his cock finally pressing against your entrance. Slowly, he pushed inside, filling you up. You gasped, clutching the bedsheet beneath you as he went deeper. Negan was there to comfort you, his determination unrelenting as he put his hand on top of yours, silently reassuring you that he was there with you – all the way.

Goddammit. 

Reminding yourself about last night will only make it worse whenever you inevitably see Negan. In fact, that’ll only give him the satisfaction he wants!

Frowning at yourself, you make your way outside. The blinding sun doesn’t bother you as much as it usually does, your mind too preoccupied by the simple task of trying to walk straight. But your distracted state doesn’t last long.

“Hey!” One of the newer Saviors jogs up to you and you try to remember his name “I thought you were going on watch an hour ago”. 

“Oh, shit,” you run a hand down your face “sorry about that, I’m all over the place today”. You give a small laugh, hoping to ease things over quickly. 

He huffs but doesn’t contest your excuse, simply passing you the rifle slung over his shoulder “Well, here. You’re on until dinner. DJ said he’ll watch the northern side so you’re by the fence on the east side, got it?”.

Fantastic. Now you’re going to miss lunch too.

“Hey,” the Savior snaps you out of your thoughts before you can wander too far “you with me?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah” you reply, hoisting the rifle over your shoulder “I’m good”. You give him a firm nod, trying to seem less distracted. 

“Alright, shouldn’t be that hard, y’gotta just watch the fence” he also nods, giving you a once over before he starts to walk away.

With a tight lipped smile, you stroll over to your position. 

His thrusts got harder, his fingers digging into the plush of your hips as he pushes the entirety of his cock into you, over and over again. Negan’s other hand slid down between your legs, teasing your clit. "Like I got heaven wrapped around my dick,” Negan panted heavily as he grasped your thigh, pulling your leg up firmly against his shoulder. 

“Oh god,” you gasped, your back arching off the bed. 

“Fuck, I've wanted to be buried in your sweet cunt for so long. Who’s making you moan, baby? Tell me who…” 

It’s a miracle you didn’t drop dead right then and there as the memories flash before your eyes. If you can’t even think back to last night without getting all flustered, how will you handle it when Negan is purposefully trying to get under your skin?

You shift uncomfortably at what your future encounters with Negan might be like. A small voice in the back of your mind sows seeds of doubt. Maybe the other women who Negan has managed to catch in his venus flytrap will be able to tell you’re the newest casualty that landed in his snare. 

Maybe they’ll show pity or maybe they’ll just be glad he’s done toying with you and hope he might go back to showing one of them attention instead…

No memories come flooding back this time, the dread of seeing him again overwhelming you. Wandering off to one of the quieter parts of the fence, the levity of your impulsive decision starts to set in. 

Mindlessly playing with the strap of the rifle, you wonder if you could stay out here until night or if it’s possible to avoid him forever. 

“Fuck…” you curse yourself.  

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

For the first time in a long time, Negan has a smile on his face when he wakes up. Despite all he has in this new world order, this is a rarity for him.

He may not know what’ll happen today, tomorrow, next week or even next year but he’s damn sure he knows who’s beside him now.

Negan doesn’t need to open his eyes to know it’s already late in the day. But who could blame him for sleeping in? Especially with the workout you both had last night.

He bucked up into you as you bounced on his cock, meeting you each time. “That’s it, baby” Negan cooed, driving his hips up erratically “Wanna feel ya squeeze me". 

He smiles at the fond memories, hoping to make some new ones once you have some food first. He’s well aware you’ll both need the energy.

Negan sprawls his arm across his bed, trying to feel for your warm body. Funnily enough, he always pegged you as a cuddler but the lack of spooning tells him otherwise.

His eyebrows knit together as he runs his arm across the bed again, unable to find you. Negan begrudgingly opens his eyes, expecting to see you somewhere on the bed but he’s greeted by empty sheets. This doesn’t dampen his mood though, if anything, it makes him think he’s picked a real winner.

You’re already up and going to grab him some breakfast downstairs? Negan knows he’s being spoiled.

"Fuck, you’re incredible," Negan groaned against your lips, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. 

A smug smile spreads across his face. Perfect. Everything is perfect. Except, if he’s to nitpick, there’s a lack of smell.

There’s no mouth watering waft of bacon reaching his nose or smell of eggs gracing his morning. Though, Negan is quick to dismiss his concerns, chalking it up to you taking your sweet ass time so you don’t drop the food on the way up to his room.

He stretches out, going full spread eagle as he lays naked and waiting. A part of him still can’t believe you finally let last night happen. If you were to ask him, Negan thinks you both did that whole ‘will they, won’t they’ thing for far too long. It was about time he got to give you a good show.

And now you can both eat some breakfast when you get back, fuck again, then Negan knows he’ll probably have to shout at some pricks, make sure Simon can handle shit for the day and afterwards, fuck you yet again. 

Now, that sounds like one fantastic day to him. 

Negan closes his eyes as he waits, feeling a strange wave of peace that he hasn’t felt in years, even when the world was still working. He thinks of you, your body, the way you came undone again and again — all thanks to him.

You stayed on his lap despite your juices seeping down from your core and leaving a glaze on Negan’s thighs. He kept his arms around you the whole time, rubbing your back soothingly. His hands slowly drifted down to your ass, gently squeezing and massaging as you rested on top of him. 

“You feel so good,” Negan murmured, his voice hoarse from exertion. 

“I don’t think I’ve been fucked that good since… well, since forever” You said honestly, pressing your lips to his. Rolling you on to your side, Negan let his duvet envelop you both. You moaned softly as you felt him slowly softening inside you.

“You give me a few minutes to recharge and I’ll be ready for round… three? Four?” Negan raised an eyebrow, the passion of the night blurring together. You giggled, tracing a finger down the side of his face “Pretty sure it’s round three. You sure you’ll be able to keep up?”.

Negan gave you a glare. “Damn right I am” he said, his voice filled with playful determination.

“Boss? I know you’re not dead because you’re not trying to bite my face off,” the not so sexy voice of Simon wakes him. 

Negan grunts, opening an eye to look at his second in command as he subtly makes sure his body is covered under the sheets.

“There a reason you’re trying to perv on me, Si?” he huffs, running a hand down his face. Your absence doesn’t go unnoticed by Negan, even with the abrupt interruption of Simon. 

Simon stays rooted at the door frame, not daring to enter his bedroom any further. “Well, the lieutenants have been up my ass wondering where you are and nobody else has seen you today so I thought I’d come check on ya… seems like you had quite the mighty night” he replies.

Negan nods, a smirk on his face as he can’t help but brag, his bruised ego from you leaving slowly recovering. “What do you expect from a guy that has more wives than shits to give?” his grin says it all.

Simon barks out a laugh, letting a short silence simmer before eventually sighing. 

“Funny, I already checked with them,” he reveals “and I’m sure those girls are fun… but they said they haven’t seen you since yesterday afternoon”. 

Negan hums, losing some of his friendliness. He hates when Simon does this. Just because he’s second in command doesn't mean he needs to overstep. Sometimes minding his own damn business is the preferable option. 

Letting his head fall back on to his pillow, Negan lets out a groan. “What time is it?” he makes a poor attempt to change the subject.

“Just past five”.

“Are you fuckin’ shitting me?” Negan grunts, huffing as he reluctantly moves. Shifting, he lets the blankets pool around his waist as he scans the floor for his clothes. 

“You waited this fucking long before coming to check everything’s alright?” He starts to lecture Simon, reaching out to yank his boxers up from the floor. 

Simon faces the door to give him some privacy. “Thought you’d need the sleep, boss,” he replies “and it looks like I was right considering you were sleeping like a log when I came in”.

Negan snorts, muttering curses under his breath as he pulls his jeans on. “Well, thank you for your concern, Si” he grumbles, his tone sharp with sarcasm. 

He stands, fumbling with his belt. “But the next time my ass isn’t downstairs for the morning meeting, you come get me. Hell, what if something was going on? Could’ve been a fucking riot for all I know” Negan continues to rant on.

Simon shrugs, his gaze trained on Negan now that he has some modesty “Everyone’s fine. No one’s started a mutiny yet.”

Negan lets out a long breath, not bothering to hide the irritation creeping into his voice. “Yeah, well, just cause it’s fine doesn’t mean shit’s smooth” He grabs a shirt from the pile of clothes on his armchair and pulls it on, the fabric rough against his skin. 

Negan runs a hand through his hair, snatching his leather jacket before pacing towards the door. He reaches out to grab Lucille and Simon moves just in time for Negan to pass by without a word. Left standing there, Simon watches as Negan storms off, his mind clearly elsewhere.

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It’s just after dinner when he appears. You’ve slowly started to relax, the hot meal you decided to splurge your points on making you ease into the evening. And of course, just as your guard comes down is when Negan has to make an appearance.

Like a wave, all residents of the Sanctuary kneel as Negan bodes overhead, making his way along one of the high up walkways. You have to force your body to join the crowd.

Head down, knee bent and unmoving.

You act as if your tyrannical (and great in the sac) leader is a dinosaur that can sense movement. Or fear.

You stay still. Everyone simply waits. 

Negan stands tall, Lucille present over his shoulder as he peers down, trying to pick you out from the crowd. He scans his sea of followers, a frown slowly settling on his face. The more Negan thinks about it, the more apparent his annoyance is. 

After making him wait for so long, you just vanish the next morning? Not even a thank you? Negan huffs.

He has a goddamn empire to run, the last thing he needs to be dealing with is non-committed people; whether that be Saviors who can’t deal with shit when they need to or you deciding to high tail it out of his bedroom.

You can feel your legs shake, the pounding you got last night not helping your need to stay still. The more you try to force your body still, the more it yearns to move. 

The silence stretches on until finally, Negan speaks “Alright, listen up you fuckers”. 

You shut your eyes. Great, this is exactly what you need. A speech.

“I know shit’s been tough but hey, look at us! Persevering. Ain’t that the life, huh? We are doing good!” He exclaims, his eyes trying to study each person, a task that’s harder than it sounds when most refuse to look him in the eye “And I want each and every one of you to know, I am getting the job done for you! I’m getting my hands dirty, no matter how tight it might get. I go all in”.

You can’t help but shift, slightly uncomfortable at his wording. Suddenly his speeches have a certain edge to them.

His eyes immediately go to you, watching as you roll your shoulders, head remaining down. Negan smirks, no longer caring about speeches now that he’s won his game of Where’s Waldo.

“So let’s not waste any more time. Keep it tight, keep it hot and keep fuckin’ moving. Go!” he quickly wraps it up.

By the time everyone has scrambled back up to their feet, Negan’s on the stairs. His boots clank under each step, like a warning bell going off every time he moves closer. You stand and look, his eyes meeting yours in a stare off like no other.

His mouth juts out into a pout, his gaze hard and unwavering. You’d almost find the look endearing if it wasn’t directed at you.

Spinning on your heels, you rush out of the open room and into the smaller corridors of the Sanctuary. You don’t need to have some awkward confrontation, especially in a crowded room. It’s too exposing, even if the others don’t catch on to what’s happened between you both. 

You weave through the corridors of the Sanctuary, purposefully making your direction confusing. You go up some stairwells just to dart along the floor and go back down the other set of stairs on the opposite side of the building. The last thing you want is Negan to follow you.

Your footsteps echo off the cold concrete floor. The dim overhead lights casts long, flickering shadows that play tricks on your eyes. The air feels suffocating but when you stop and listen for any following footsteps, the stillness only deepens and the silence stays. 

It takes a while but eventually you manage to loop around and make it back to your room. Some Saviors mill around but you take no notice, so close to the only place in this godforsaken building you can stop running and actually breathe.

In your room, you’ll have time to think, time to plan out what to do next and how to get past everything that has happened.

You open your door, a long huff pre-emptively leaving your lips at the stresses of the day. But it’s not over yet.

There, Negan stands in the middle of your room, glancing your way as the door opens. After all that, you walk straight to him.

“W-what are you doing here?” you ask as if he doesn’t have the right to waltz into any room in his Sanctuary.

“What do you think?” he scoffs “Knew you’d come running in here to hide from me”. Negan takes a few steps closer, glaring down at you as he gently pushes the door shut with Lucille. 

That suffocating feeling comes back, running up your spine and wrapping around your throat. It’s a heavy weight when you lay eyes on Negan and the first thing you want to do is run. It doesn’t matter how silly or embarrassing it may be, the idea still seems enticing.

Yet despite your nervous disposition, Negan smirks, smug to have caught you off guard.

You freeze, unsure what to do now that you’re within Lucille’s range. Even with all that has happened between you both in the past 24 hours, you know better than to relax when Lucille is so close.

“So what’s the deal? Couldn’t even stick around to have a bedroom rodeo the morning after?” Negan says, his tone utterly mocking.

You eye the bat and unfortunately, he notices.

He lets out the ghost of a chuckle as he adds “Damn, doll, now you got me wondering if you’re that scared of commitment or maybe your scared you’ve upset dear ol’ Lucille here”.

You know Negan well enough to understand what he wants. He’s egging you on, yearning for you to blow up in his face and give him the argument he desires. It’s frustrating to know that’s his angle but what makes it worse is that you give in.

“You’re going to act as if I’m the problem?” your temper flares at his audacity “Act as if I’m the one who’s scared of commitment?! Really, Mr-Ten-Wives?”.

Negan narrows his eyes, not appreciating that comment but keeping his mocking tone nonetheless. “It’s six wives, actually. And if you took the time to actually get to know me instead of just wanting to get into my pants, maybe you’d know that” his voice is laced with sarcasm. 

At this point, there’s little holding you back from socking him in his handsome face. How dare he! First, his issue was that you wouldn’t jump into bed with him but now he’s acting as if that’s all you wanted?!

Even if there's a part of you that might be afraid of commitment, the idea of Negan of all people calling you out on it feels wrong. 

It doesn't matter if he’s right, he’s being an asshole. The last thing you want to do now is concede his point, especially when Negan will only see it as a victory thanks to his taunting.

“So what?” you throw your hands up as you begin to pace, wanting some distance from him “You wanted me to stay this morning so I could listen to you snore and then stroke your ego when you finally wake up?”.

Letting Lucille rest against the wall, Negan shrugs.

“Well, I was kinda thinking you could stroke something else,” he smirks, thinking back to how he imagined the morning going. Negan chuckles, his tongue running over his teeth as he gets lost in his fantasy. You glare, not wanting to even think about what’s going through his head.

His eyes flicker over you for a moment, sighing when he sees your stern expression. 

Pushing his lewd thoughts away, he continues “Look, sweetheart, we both know I'm not winning any ‘Lover of the Year' awards when it comes to the emotional side of things, but at least I don't skedaddle when things get too real".

This is the part of Negan you equally love and hate; his honesty. Given his larger-than-life persona, you'd expect his ego to stop him from accepting when he's wrong but instead, Negan possesses the rare ability known as humility.

It’s one not many Saviors seem to possess but that’s what lends weight to Negan’s opinion, making it harder to dismiss as the musings of an egomaniac. Besides the rare occasion, you know when Negan confronts you on something, he tends to have a point.

That doesn’t make this any easier. If anything, it makes you want to dig your heels in more. If he’s going to hold a mirror up to your own flaws, why not do the same to him?

"And if I did skedaddle,” you admit flippantly, “have you thought that maybe it’s because I didn’t want to be waking up next to a grown ass man that’s scared of being vulnerable? Of letting anyone get too close or of actually feeling anything!”.

Negan’s face hardens, his jaw becoming rigid. For a moment, you’re glad he’s no longer holding Lucille.

"You think I’m scared of feeling?” his voice drops low, dark with a mix of anger and something else “Sweetheart, I’ve been through hell and back. Damn fuckin’ right I’m careful who I let in."

A silence stretches between you, thick and heavy. You don’t fire back with some snappy retort just to fill the space. Instead, you look at him, quiet for a long moment, then finally murmur, "But you let me in".

Neither of you speak, allowing for the tension to shift. The sharp look in your eyes loses its power. The anger starts to soften around you both, like a storm that has run its course. 

It’s as if the brief pause pulls you out of the whirlwind, giving you time to stop before you say something you can’t take back. A tiny, flickering awareness that this fight is pointless hits you both.

“I did,” Negan agrees after a moment “course I trust you, baby. Hell, even after this shit, I know I can still turn to you”.

You sigh, allow your vulnerable side to rear its head. You wrap your arms around yourself as you think before you speak.

“Negan, you know I like you and I had a good time last night…” you try to get the words out “but it’s a lot, y’know? I don’t want last night to fuck up our friendship and I’m not the type of girl to get involved with a guy that has te– six wives”.

His lips tug up but this time it isn’t a smirk. It’s a small smile as he comes closer, his hands stretched out as he gently takes hold of your arms. “Hate to break it to ya, but you already involved yourself with a guy like that,” there’s a sincerity in his eyes and you can’t help but want to give him every benefit of a doubt.

“Good news is…” he continues “you picked one handsome motherfucker to get involved with, darlin’”.

You give a quick laugh but you don’t deny his claim. Nor do you try to break free from his grasp. 

This isn’t like before. Neither of you rush it. In fact, it seems like the opposite of your first time with Negan. This isn’t an intense bout of passion. This is relaxed, a comfort between you both as your lips met in a tentative kiss.

The lingering frustration dissolves with each passing second. Negan’s hands move up and cup your face tenderly as your lips meet over and over again, parting gently to allow your tongues to dance together.

The kiss is slow, a sensuous exploration that sends warmth through you. Your breaths mingle, hearts beating faster as you once again get lost in each other.

Acting on instinct, your hands go for his jacket, easing it off his shoulders as you blindly guide him towards your bed. Negan goes for your jeans, popping open the button before slowly drawing the zipper down.

Clothes scatter the room, shoes getting kicked off and t-shirts being flung onto the floor. 

In one swift motion, Negan grasps your hips and brings you down onto the bed. You land softly among the blankets and pillows, a surprised laugh escaping your lips. 

“You gonna make it up to me for your disappearing act?” Negan asks, leaning over you as he leaves rough kisses along your neck. 

“Depends,” you run your hands through his hair “you gonna make it up to me for breaking into my room?”.

He chuckles, the low rumbling sending pleasant vibrations tingling across your skin. “I guess we’ll be here for a while then…” he replies, his eyes finding yours before he continues down further.

And just like that, you end up exactly where you were the night before, unable to resist the temptation that is Negan.

As he kisses down from your collar bone to in between your breasts you try to give yourself some credit. Technically, this isn’t the exact same predicament as the night before.

This time, it’s your bed.

[beelinx]

priorities

synopsis: osamu miya has always been a simple guy, prioritizing the same things all his life. but what happens when a new, unexpected person comes along, making his priorities change? warnings: rushed AND not proofread. probably ooc osamu bc i haven’t finished s4 yet </3 reader is referred to as girlfriend once! 1.6k words

osamu miya only ever had three things on his mind: food, volleyball, and his annoying twin brother.

he didn’t think much about anything, or anyone, else. he actually has a pretty straightforward routine, featuring all his main priorities.

wake up and eat a delicious breakfast

school (though he’s mostly thinking about what he’s having for lunch right now)

lunch with his friends and atsumu 

volleyball while his brother’s being annoying

snacking while drowning out atsumu’s voice

dinner, calmingly munching on his meal while his brother is still being annoying.

go to sleep, probably off to dream about food again

so yeah, osamu’s a pretty simple guy.

he didn’t get distracted easily, not that he’d be able to, anyway. if he lost focus during a match his brother would be sure to get his ass. which he already does, when osamu’s love for food occasionally gets the best of him.

for almost as long as he can remember, osamu’s had the same guiding priorities as always.

so, why was it that all his priorities were being messed up now?

why, instead of looking forward to lunch, he went to school looking forward to seeing your face?

why was he now zoning out during volleyball practice at the thought of you?

why was it that when you came along, he suddenly fell asleep dreaming of you, instead of his next meal?

he couldn’t understand why you were suddenly overcoming him. you, who he’d barely just met. how could someone he met not even a year ago be suddenly more important to him than everything he’s been prioritizing all his life?

he couldn’t figure it out.

he couldn’t figure you out.

you’re a year under him. you’re in the yearbook club, because, according to you, your friends wanted to all be in the same club together. that day, though, you had come alone. you said you were there to photograph the volleyball club, and you were nice to him, really nice. he couldn’t help but stare at you a little as you hurried around, trying to get the best pictures. 

that day, you briefly mentioned really liking onigiri, and that you were craving some at the moment. apparently, hearing say that was all it took to make him fall for you.

again, really simple guy.

ever since that day, when he first laid eyes on you, osamu’s never been able to stop looking for you everywhere he is. seeing your face was now the thing he looked forward to the most, with the highlight of his day being your satisfied little smile after taking a bite out of an onigiri.

his little crush was slowly becoming not so little anymore, with his teammates quickly catching onto the younger twin’s new and powerful infatuation. 

they’d tease him sometimes during practice, with his brother occasionally making snide remarks on how “his serves were off, probably because his daydreaming about his cute little girlfriend” causing osamu to roll his eyes and tell atsumu to “shut up” as he shoves a ball towards his face.

whenever he found the time to do so, osamu would stop by wherever you were. one of these days he gave you an onigiri he’d made himself, mumbling something about overhearing you say you like them. you told him it was the best onigiri you’ve ever had, so he started making them for you whenever he could.

you’d started eating lunch together at least once a week, and he really couldn’t help but stare at you while you munched on your meal. for some reason, he always thought you looked the most beautiful while you ate. especially if it was him that prepared it for you.

it’s not like he’s a coward or something, he wants to confess to you. he really does. but he can’t help but be scared about how it’s going to affect his life.

his three main priorities, all overshadowed by a new one. 

he wasn’t sure he was ready for that, so he waited. he waited, and waited, and waited. until one day, it all became too much for him.

he hadn’t planned it, hadn’t prepared for this except for all the countless nights imagining this moment. well, he hoped he’d be able to muster up some poetic words from those sleepless nights, instead of making this an incredibly awkward and disturbing experience for the both of you.

“hey ‘samu!” you greeted him. he felt himself blush merely at the sound or your voice. he silently cursed himself for how pathetic he was being. he handed you the onigiri he had brought along for you today, while avoiding all the eye contact he would to ensure you wouldn’t see him blushing furiously.

“wait, actually!” you said as you shoved your hand down your bag, slowly bringing out a container, “i brought you onigiri, too!” you quickly handed him the food, looking quite sheepish, “i wanted to switch things up a bit, but honestly i don’t think they’re as good as yours. still though, i wanted to do something for you! to thank you for being so sweet to me.”

you giggled softly as you handed him the packed goods. you kept talking, rambling on about your day or random things you’ve had on your mind. he didn’t reply to you, didn’t say or do anything but listen to your voice, not really processing what you were saying. he couldn’t exactly form coherent thoughts right now. he just stared silently at the meal, then at you, then back at the meal. he repeated this action thoughtlessly for a while. well, not really thoughtlessly, his mind was currently rushing with many thoughts, so many he couldn’t decipher any of them, except for the breathtaking image of your face..

suddenly, he felt overcome by courage and impulsively said, “be my girlfrien’?”

that seemed to stop your rambling on its track. you opened and closed your mouth repeatedly, trying to find the words to reply, or maybe you were just too shocked to process what he’d just said.

“c-can you repeat that?” you stuttered, still too taken aback by his sudden confession.

osamu felt as if his heart was trying to race out of his chest at this very moment. he hitched his breath, opening his mouth as he prepared to repeat his question, to face your cruel rejection, when a loud voice suddenly boomed throughout the schoolyard.

“‘SAMUUUU!”

priority number three.

“yer’ running late for volleyball practice, ya idiot,” atsumu said, “hurry up or we’re makin’ ya do diving drills alone!” 

osamu seemed to cringe at his brother’s voice, silently cursing him for interrupting your conversation. he turned around to look at his brother, and when he looked back at you, he couldn’t help but feel as all the previous courage to confess quickly drifted out of his body. now, all he could do was silently pray you actually hadn't heard him correctly, but he knew that was wishful thinking.

“‘samu i-”

“i’ve gotta go,” he interrupted you before hearing your words of rejection. he turned around and walked off after his brother, turning back to look at you twice, both with an apologetic and awkward look on his face. 

you were left standing shellshocked, alone, in the middle of the schoolyard, wondering what the hell just happened. 

you debated the possibilities of having actually misheard him. maybe he was actually talking about his secret girlfriend, bea. or maybe he actually saw a bee. no, that seemed very unlikely. but, really, what were the chances of your long-time crush actually liking you back? highly improbable. you’d even go as far as to say it was impossible, if you hadn’t caught him staring at you for a second too long before. 

you weren’t about to confess to him, though. no way. you already felt incredibly lucky to have somehow managed to befriend osamu, destroying your friendship would kill you. you nervously nibbled on the onigiri you were currently holding, one he’d made for you today. your favorite flavor, too. it was sweet, how he remembered exactly how you felt about each flavor.

well, that thought made you even more anxious, as you had now started pacing around nervously, trying to decipher what you should do with your current situation.

meanwhile, osamu wasn’t having it much easier.

“jeez, ya really blew it out there, didn't cha?” his brother teased him.

“shut up,” he mumbled back in reply, “‘s not funny,”

“i think it is!” he laughed, “why didn’t ya ask her out sooner, though? i’m sure she woulda gone on a date with ya,” atsumu said. well, osamu doubted that, and he wasn’t exactly sure when his brother switched from being an asshole to actually trying to comfort him. though, osamu figured maybe he felt bad after being the one to interrupt. 

actually, scratch that. that doesn’t exactly sound like atsumu.

“‘m not sure about that,” osamu replied slowly.

“nah, i know it! she’s crazy for ya,” he said, as he put a hand on osamu’s shoulder and patted him comfortingly, “you’ll get it next time, just not durin’ practice time, yeah?”

then it seemed like the topic was immediately erased from his brother’s mind, because he then started rambling on about whatever it is happened to him, not adding a single word about what just happened. osamu only listened to him vaguely, occasionally nodding or humming in reply, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. mostly on whether or not his brother’s words rang true at all.

did you really like him back? well, he figured it wasn’t actually impossible, you do treat him differently as you do others. and you made onigiri for him today. you always laugh at his shitty jokes, too. and you said you thought his hair was cute once.

…yeah, maybe he should try confessing to you again.but he’d make sure to do it properly this time.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

How would Candy , Jason and LJ (separately) react if they did something nice for their SO (Complimenting them or giving them a gift) only to have them start crying before they explain to the creeps that it's the nicest thing a partner has ever done for them?

Ps. I hope you're having a good day and taking care of yourself!!!

I love that you picked the three biggest gift givers for this one. I'm taking good care of myself, and I hope you are too! Enjoy :)

Candy:

Candy is a man of many gifts and surprises, as his favorite thing to do in his incredibly long life is surprise people. Candy took his time, however, waiting to fully get to know you in your relationship with him so he could learn the best ways to surprise you, and today was the day he was finally going to enact his plan. He had prepared a lovely little date for you, a picnic in one of the most beautiful groves in the Underworld, comprised of your favorite food and freshly baked sweet treats. Without telling you where he was taking you, he'd whisked you off, picnic basket and blanket in hand, walking you to the beautiful area at the perfect time of day, with the sun bright in the sky so it could shine through all of the trees, making the area beautifully glow. You were so caught off guard by the picturesque surroundings that you hadn't noticed Candy laying out the blanket and placing your favorite food and all of the little treats he'd made onto the blanket until you accidentally bumped into him.

He simply chuckled at you, helping you sit as he dished out the meal for you, picking out the prettiest of desserts as well, handing them to you eagerly as he explained what they were. Overcome by the sweet gestures he was displaying, you couldn't help but begin to cry, something that immediately halted Candy in his tracks. He immediately asked if you were alright, pulling you into his lap so he could hug you and gently rock you back and forth. When you explained your reasoning for the tears, Candy could only frown and hold you tighter, eventually releasing you so he could pepper your face in kisses. He was quick to tell you to prepare yourself, because he was a man of many gifts and surprises, and this just means he's gonna have to surprise you twice as often, he said quite proudly as he puffed out his chest, getting a giggle out of you that softened him and had him nuzzling into your neck. Candy would do whatever he could to show you just how much he absolutely adored you, and he'd give you so many gifts and surprises that you'd get sick of them.

LJ:

If there's one thing Jack is the best at, it's either making plushies or making desserts, both of which he likes to spoil you with as the person he loves most. On this particular day, he had been sitting up in his room, crocheting away as he often did, working on a lovely little surprise for you. He'd already started making candy canes for the season, and it inspired him to make two candy cane colored bears, one for you and one for himself, that way the two of you could match. It didn't take long before he was fully satisfied with their plush, cute designs before he was bounding off to wherever you were, presenting them to you with a smile, and offering you your plush, extra stuffed bear, with freshly made candy canes resting on its arms. Jack hadn't noticed your tears yet, too caught up in his explanation of the different flavors of candy canes until you'd let out a loud hic as you tried to catch your breath. Jack's head snapped toward you in shock, his eyes widening as he quickly scooped you up so you were sitting on one of his arms, and he squeezed you to his chest with the other.

Jack, in his confusion, asked if it was a bad gift and if he had upset you, and in response, you quickly shook your head and told him that it was the nicest gift a partner had ever given you. Jack's mouth flew open and he squeezed you tighter, huffing and stating that he'd have to make you even better plushies then, because this wasn't even close to the best of his work, and he'd do his best to keep surprising you, which only brought more tears from your eyes as you clutched onto him. He told himself he'd have to make you more desserts tonight so he could fill you up with them and try and stop your tears, but for now, he'd take you upstairs to cuddle with your newly made plush. He'd hold himself to it, to make you the biggest and cutest plushes physically possible, because that was the bare minimum of what he thought you deserved, and he'd go above and beyond that for you in any way that he could.

Jason:

If Jason wasn't spoiling you, he wasn't living. This man lived and breathed to make you feel like royalty, and nothing in the world would stop him from doing so. One of Jason's favorite ways of doing so was tailoring you new clothes, clothes that always fit you perfectly and bring out the best of your features. Today was one of those days, as Jason was going to be attending another ball here soon, and he wanted to have you accompany him. He'd made the two of you matching outfits, Jason's being red and representing the sun, and yours being blue and representing the moon and the constellations. It was the most beautiful outfit you'd ever worn, and that already had you ready to cry, but Jason's praise had made you even more overwhelmed.

He couldn't stop gushing over how beautiful you looked, citing that you were more gorgeous than all the stars in the solar system, that nothing in the universe could compare to your beauty, and it had pushed you over the edge until you were covering your face as tears flowed out of you. Jason was quick to pull you to a chair, sitting you down and kneeling in front of you. He'd pulled your hands into his own, pressing smooches along your fingers as he asked you what was wrong, and when you explained, he nearly scoffed, saying it was ridiculous that this was the nicest thing ever done for you, that he could do better. He explained to you that in his eyes, you deserved all the riches in the world, that he believed nothing he could give you would ever be good enough to match how truly spectacular you are. He pulled you forward so he could soothe your cries with kisses, mentally planning 1,000 different ways he could give you something far better than this, far more fitting and wonderful for someone as perfect as you. Jason wouldn't stop until he'd given you the best gift physically possible, wholly unaware that in your eyes, he was the best gift you could ever be given, and you'd make sure he'd realize that someday, just as he'd make you realize that you deserved it.

[majoryeager104]

You + me = three

Summary: Headcannons of Touya with a pregnant partner 🥹👍

Touya/Dabi x fem!reader

Warnings: language, and general wholesome behavior (these hc’s are my therapy atp)

Telling Touya you were pregnant was a worrisome task to say the least 

Because even though you both worked to be as emotionally available to each other as possible

This was a subject that you had no idea how he’d react to

Because pregnancy wasn’t something the two of you had talked about, even in your late night discussions of what you wanted your futures to look like, a child was never mentioned 

He knew that he was barely alive as it is

And I suppose he thought that the trauma his body had experienced would probably put the possibility of being a father out of his reach. 

he would be lying if he said that this saddened him, if only a little

Because even though he never mentioned having them

He thought about kids with you

A lot. 

Because currently he was in a relationship with the only person he’d want to start a family with

But as mentioned, he wasn’t really sure if that would be possible for him

So you’d bet that when you decided how you’d tell him

And you took him out for dinner at his favorite soba place

And those two momentous words left your mouth

He was beyond shocked. 

He’d stare at you for a long moment, his eyes drifting from yours to your belly, over and over again, while a wide smile spread across his face

“You serious?”

And when you’d confirm? It was like there was a light at the end of the long tunnel he’d been stuck in since the night he’d burned up

Something to look forward to, beyond the repercussions he’d wished upon his father

A family with you, something to go home to, hell, a home in general

Because he’d make it happen, now. No matter what. 

Because that light at the end of the tunnel, that glimpse of hope in the flames he’d been burning in for so long

Made him feel alive again. You, and the little one you currently carried, were his reason to exist. Beyond his revenge, beyond the dark clouds overhead

Because he now had the privilege to be a father

To do for you and your child what his father had never bothered to do with his own family 

To give to your child something he’d never received from Enji

Love. 

After he’d finally stopped grinning

And the two of you were walking back to your apartment 

He made sure that you wanted this, too

He wanted to be absolutely sure that you wanted this child

Especially if it would be with him

And dammit the smiling confirmation from you once again

Sent his heart soaring. 

He had to stop himself from smiling too much to make sure he didn’t pop his staples out. 

He was absolutely elated

He’d be such a great partner during the pregnancy 

He’d act annoyed when you woke him up for snacks

But secretly when he’d turn over to look at you when you nudged his shoulder and quietly requested it, he’d be on cloud nine just looking at you

Because just look at you 

His beautiful girl, and his future beautiful girl

Because he was secretly hoping for a daughter

The least he could do was go get you your chips from seven eleven

He’d constantly be rubbing your belly too

Like “holy shit there’s actually a baby in there? And it’s mine?”

Like I said, cloud nine. 

And the first kick? He was already cuddling you when it happened, so you best believe he felt it

If he could cry, he would have been 

Because that little kick cemented the entire thing for him

Like, this was it. This was gonna be the best thing in his life

And he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna be there for every second of it with you. 

So he decided taking revenge could wait

Because he was a father now, and had better priorities

This is one of my favorite songs and it reminds me of Touya often, but I found it through my favorite Attack on Titan animatic (here but spoiler warning if you haven’t finished the show), and the LYRICSSS 😭🙏

[toto-the-cactus]

Primarchs + Daughters

My perception of how each Primarch would behave when nosediving into parenthood if they had daughters. Enjoy!

I wanna personally thank @moodymisty because a great deal of their works inspired this piece.

Part 1

Lion El’jonson

The embodiment of 'tough love' made man. Having a daughter doesn’t do much to soften this guy… or at least that’s what others believe. The Dark Angels Legion are probably the only ones aware of the small gestures the Primarch often gives to his little girl in the safety that privacy offers. Where Lion lacks words of compassionate and parental love, he appropriately makes up for it with actions. He isn’t one to go over the top and prefers to give modest gifts to his daughter as the last thing the man wants is to raise a spoiled brat. Father-daughter bonding time can be summarized with strenuous training using the sword. This man will not let his precious Princess go through life without learning how to protect herself, even if he has made an oath to forever shield her too.

Fulgrim

The complete antithesis of Lion. Where this man views the Emperor as the perfection anyone should strive to reach, his beautiful daughter comes close to the second place in fulfilling that ideal. There’s a big fat chance that he teared up a little when his little gem called him Papa for the first time, but managed to wear his ever unshakable mask because he absolutely refuses to break character even in private. Has the mistaken notion that his baby is a blank canvas ready to be painted to its fullest potential; aka, molding her to what HE wants and expects of her. Fulgrim probably spoils her rotten but only through conditions that she must follow, as the Primarch understands the importance of fighting and earning for what you wish to obtain. He makes sure that any of his gene-sons are in her company as he refuses to let even a single scratch happen to his little girl. Honestly, a grown-up version of Fulgrim’s child has the chances to go both opposites of the spectrum with no in betweens: A shy aristocratic lady who is unable to speak her own mind or a completely haughty, sharp and manipulative noble woman. Too much to unpack there, yo.

Perturabo

(Slaps this bastard's head loudly) This bad boy can fit so much family trauma in it! Okay no but seriously, there’s a good reason why so many people agree that this bitch has a thing for gilded cages and all the fucked up poetry that comes with it. The good ol’ classic Greek tragedy of Medea. Perturabo may have big and insane expectations for his gene-sons but when it comes to having a daughter? The apple of his eyes. The sunshine of his life. For this Primarch, his little princess is the only living thing in the entire universe that loves him genuinely and unconditionally, making his love the equivalent of a child crushing a bird between his hands. While still easy to anger and with a resting-bitch face, he is incredibly tame and careful with his girl; always making sure that she is well versed in all kinds of science and engineering that could easily label her as a genius (but we all know how stressful can be to try and live up to big expectations). Most of his Legion finds the child either an annoyance or don’t even care enough beyond the factual point of her being the child of their mighty Primarch, beyond that? This poor girl is probably the loneliest child to ever grace the world. Remember that I referred to this like the Tragedy of Medea? Yeah…

Jaghatai Khan

Probably one of the few best papa-tier out there. This man will see his little daughter and think the only thing a good parent should do: To love and guide. He’ll be not afraid to say “I love you” to his baby girl no matter where they are, but he’ll know when to be stern and wise so she grows to be a fine and humble woman. Honestly, this guy would learn how to make a sling just for the single purpose of having his precious princess close while also being excited to teach her how to ride on a horse like he did in his childhood. The thing that makes this dude the best in this list is that if his daughter ever expresses to follow a different path in life like becoming a remembrancer or anything that doesn’t involve the Imperium, this Chad of a man will look deep into her eyes and tell her that he’ll support her no matter what. The only thing he asks is that she stays in contact as he’ll miss her terribly. Kudos to him, fr.

Leman Russ

Another one for the ‘tough love’ guys list, yo! On his defense! Hear me out… in his defense, this guy was literally raised first by Fenrisian wolves before even knowing what a proper bath entailed, so of course he’ll sometimes be a bit too much on his poor little baby girl. Roughhousing was his best first approach to teach her how to fight, trying to make his little pup have some proper backbone worthy of being called the child of a Primarch. Sometimes he’ll get carried away (either with words or actions) and is in those moments when Leman would learn what genuine and heavy guilt feels like; a very alien emotion for someone as brutal and fierce as he is. There’s no worse feeling than knowing that you are the reason behind your daughter’s tears. No one would ever say it out loud, but the way this giant of a man apologizes is by slowly and silently hugging his little girl while pouting until she hugs him back. He may suck at expressing verbally his love towards his baby, but actions are his best way to communicate and this is something his daughter eventually learns and accepts from him. Forgot to add that the entire Space Wolves Legion are not only suffocatingly protective of their Primarch’s child, but everyone takes turns when she asks them for piggy-rides or let her braid their hair.

Rogal Dorn

I don’t wanna be too mean to this poor man but lord have some mercy, trying to squeeze any emotion that doesn’t range to watching paint dry from this damn guy is already a miracle on its own. He’s probably the kind of dude that’ll leave his poor daughter in the care of his astartes and serfs while he works. Workaholic in bold, yo. It literally will take watching his poor little princess cry her eyes out for him to attempt some bonding time but man he just sucks at trying not to have a stick up his ass (Again, I’m not trying to be mean but god this is painful). This is the kind of man, besides Guilliman, that will search high and low for some paternity books to help him. At the end this father-daughter relationship can be salvageable by having a heart to heart between them both and even then, is the poor girl the one that gives more than she receives. Honestly, any daughter from Dorn has the patience of a saint. Besides this Primarch's ineptitude to properly communicate his feelings, everything else doesn’t change the fact that he loves his little princess and will do anything to make her as happy as possible so he gets some brownie points for the try.

I'll later write the second and third part of this, I swear <333

[imawreck]

His

Pairing: Winter Soldier x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky broke up a few months ago against your wishes, and you’d been trying to move on. When Bucky sees you flirting with another member of the team, he leaves for the next mission to avoid getting in your way. Unfortunately, the mission goes bad, and Bucky isn’t himself when he comes back. He also has a lot to say…

Author’s Note: I realize that in most of my fics Thor is the other romantic interest/situationship, but you CANT tell me that man wouldn’t flirt up a storm with a beautiful woman any chance he got. Also, this is my first smutty fic so feedback and comments would be much appreciated! This is on the more explicit side, so please read with caution.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions self loathing/guilt (it’s Bucky, kinda normal), choking kink, Possessive!Winter Soldier, flashbacks, hair pulling, fingering, metal arm kink, dominant!winter soldier, probably some more but those are the big ones.

Word Count: 4,850

Breakups are ugly most of the time, and almost always one sided.

You and Bucky had been apart for at least three months. You’d stopped counting, wanting to forget it and focus on anything else. It was easier that way, to ignore the heartbreak and clutter up your life with other things to do.

Unfortunately, you still lived in the same tower on the same floor, right across from one another. He was constantly around, and no mattered how hard you tried, you just couldn’t avoid him.

It was hell.

And it was only hell because Bucky hardly gave you a good reason for the break up. Sure, you had your arguments. Mostly about his past and how much better he thought you deserved, to which you’d list all the reasons he was wrong. In reality, those weren’t really arguments. It was just Bucky having a low point, which you were more than willing to help him work through. Outside of those moments, you had felt that your relationship with Bucky was near perfect.

So when he had come back from a mission and broke up with you, his only reason being ‘I can’t be with you,’ it’d been a slap to the face. Like someone had shoved a knife in your heart and twisted.

The worst part was that he wouldn’t even allow you the chance to talk to him afterwards. Every time you were in the same room together alone, he’d find every reason not to speak with you.

So, you’d taken the hint and were now trying to figure out a way to move on.

That was made a little easier when a certain God of Thunder made his interest known to you. Thor was sweet, charming, and a little goofy. Not to mention handsome, with his blonde hair and sky blue eyes.

He’d made an effort to woo you not long after you’d parted from Bucky, and you’d informed him that the breakup was hard for you and that you couldn’t really do something new right now. Thor had been surprisingly understanding, and even took to just being friends quite well. Granted, he was still flirty, but he knew where you both stood and was always happy to lend an ear when you needed one.

He turned out to be just the friend you needed.

From the outside looking in, none of the others thought it was ‘just friends,’ especially when Thor would openly show his interest in you. Especially to a certain Super Soldier.

Bucky was painfully aware of what was going on between you and Thor even though he desperately tried not to be.

His super hearing picked up on the soft laughter you and the god would share, on the hushed whispers you’d exchange late over a mug of coffee when you thought everyone was asleep. His every fiber was attuned to you, and he couldn’t help but fixate on your presence.

You were like gravity to him, and he always found himself near you when he knew he should be as far as humanly possible. He saw the little looks you shared when Thor would compliment you, noticed your shy smile when the god would enter the room. He could tell that Thor was winning you over slowly but surely.

He couldn’t fucking stand it.

So it wasn’t a big surprise when he shipped off on the next mission possible.

You worried, your heart still set on loving him, but you tried to pay it little mind. And after a few days, it actually helped. You felt better, found yourself smiling more. You were beginning to move forward.

That was, until the jet was reported missing. Then Bucky was all anyone could talk about in the tower.

Thor tried his best to keep you in the dark about most of what was going on, and it wasn’t hard seeing as you were just a rather good strategist and not a serious Avenger. You were only really included in skimming over preplanned attacks and making sure they hadn’t missed anything critical.

But word still spread, and worry was ever present.

Needless to say, it was very strange when Mr. Stark called you into a private meeting with himself and two other of the elite team.

“Y/N,” He spoke softly in the kind of tone that lets you know that whatever he says next is going to ruin your whole week. “There’s a situation with Barnes.”

You frowned, eyebrows scrunching at him from where you sat at the rather empty end of the long black table. “I’m confused. Bucky and I broke up months ago. Why are you talking to me about it?”

Steve, who you’d befriended while dating his best pal, looked at you with poorly concealed pity from his seat next to Stark. “Because we know he still means a lot to you and that you’re our best hope in this situation.”

That didn’t make you feel better about whatever was going on at all. “What do you mean ‘this situation?’” You eyed them both, before dragging your eyes over to Doctor Banner who hadn’t done much more than stare at you with a concerned expression bordering on panic.

Stark pressed his fingers to his forehead, “Barnes got triggered on his mission and has infiltrated the tower. We have reason to believe he’s after you.”

You gaped at him. That didn’t make any sense. You weren’t important, at least not as important as one of The Avengers. “Me? Why me?”

“We’ve silently shut the building down and we’re working on evacuating the floors without anyone freaking out.” Tony went on, ignoring your questions, “He doesn’t know that we’re aware he’s here, and we’re trying to keep it that way.” Tony motioned towards a monitor, and the image of Bucky popped up on the screen.

Only he was in your room, and he was dragging his fingers over the picture of the two of you that was perched on the nightstand. They way his fingers smoothed over the glass, the slight pinch in his brows as if calculating instead of recalling. It was like he’d never seen it before in his life. Like he had no connection to the image of himself.

It was a picture he had taken, his arm extended and a smile on his face with your lips pressed to his cheek. You had meant to take it down and stuff it in the box under your bed with all the other memories you had hid from sight, but it was just too painful. You needed something to hold onto.

You watched through the screen as he moved around your room, taking note of certain things and taking careful precautions to ensure that anything he moved was set right back in place. It was eerie to watch a man who was once so comfortable in your space tread with so much hesitance. Like it was the first time he’d been in the space all over again.

“Y/N.” It was Steve’s gentle timbre that brought your attention away from the screen this time. He tried to smile, though it was clearly forced. “We need you to lure him down towards the lower levels. We have to get him to a room where we can better contain him. If he finds out we know he’s back and not… him, then he could snap.”

“You want to use me as bait? For the Winter Soldier?” You stared at them both with wide eyes, panic blooming in your chest. “This is insane!”

Steve sighed, “Y/N… Bucky told me about the incident that happened in the beginning of your relationship.”

Your attention zeroed in on the blonde’s words, your breath hitching.

“He told me what could’ve happened… and what didn’t.”

You walked down the corridor of the Stark tower office floor heading back towards your desk from a late night research meeting with a few of your coworkers. You had decided to stay later than the others so that you could collect and organize the information you needed for the meeting with Mr. Stark the following morning. It was very late, and you were tired, the heels you wore had begun to irritate the soles of your feet hours before.

You clutched the files you collected in your arms, heels clicking on the glossy floors and echoing into the dimly lit corridor. So dim that you didn't see the silhouette of the man standing just feet from you until it was too late.

You only saw a flash of silver before the door beside you was torn open and you were roughly shoved inside. Cleaning supplies clattered onto the floor, spilling liquids over your feet as you cried out. A hand clamped over your mouth, and your head hit the wall with a thunk.

Stormy blue eyes stared at you, cold and unfeeling. Eyes you had seen just days before smiling at you and filled with life.

Your lips moved to say his name against the cool metal of his hand, but his grip on your face was nearly bruising. You could only stare back in fear and attempt to press your body further from him.

He didn't speak, only stared at you and kicked the door to the closet shut.

Fear was a living thing in your stomach, writhing as his eyes snaked down to your red heels and back up again. His head tilted to the side, as if he was trying to remember something. But his eyes remained cold and unrelentingly empty. His flesh hand came up to press a finger threateningly to his lips.

‘Quiet.’

You weren't stupid enough to scream, not with the way he was looking at you, with how close he was. When he removed his hand, you did exactly as he wanted. Silence hung in the small closet, suffocating you. Would he kill you? What did he want? Why hadn't he killed you already?

The cool metal of his palm slipped further down, wrapping around your throat and pressing against your thundering pulse. Your head pounded along with it, and a foggy feeling settled over your mind.

But your lungs still filled with air, and you remained aware. The pressure of his hand was ever present, but it was light enough not to cause real damage... Almost like he didn't want to hurt you.

His tongue darted out to lick his lips, the movement catching your eyes. His body leaned forward, his nose pressing into your neck and his warm breath hitting your skin. Goosebumps rose in its wake, and that lick of fear heightened again. He was acting so strangely, and the longer it went on the more unsettling it was.

When he pulled away, there was a heat in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A hunger, and… and recognition.

“Hello, Beloved.”

“We know that he didn’t hurt you, and that he displayed… certain feelings towards you.” Steve’s voice brought you out of the memory, dragging you back to the reality at hand.

The one where he wants you to put yourself smack dab in the path of the Winter Soldier.

“You’re serious about this?” You blink up at him, trying to gauge if he was joking or not. Level headed as Steve was, you trusted him with your life. But this? This was terrifying and completely unexpected. Ridiculously dangerous.

“It’s the only nonviolent way we can think of. And we’re almost certain there’s no high risk for you.” Steve tried to give you a reassuring smile, tried to hide the hint of unease that shone in his tense shoulders.

“You’ve all lost your mind.” You laugh, sighing and raising your chin. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

Apparently, so had you.

You stared at the metal doors of the elevator, your heart pounding with each toll of the floors passing. This was probably—no, was— the riskiest thing you’d ever done in your life. You trusted Steve and Mr. Stark, but your brain was trained to find the flaws in plans like this. And so many things could go wrong.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Steve said calmly into your ear, startling you. You’d forgotten they’d given you the earpiece. “I’ll be here the entire time. I’ll guide you through the compound and make sure you stay out of danger.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if they could see you.

“Bucky is leaving your room. We’re going to drop you off in the commons area of your floor. All you have to do is make some noise and then head for the stairwell. Just listen to me, and I’ll get you through this.” Steve sounded so confident in your ear, but it did little to soothe the nerves.

The elevator leveled out, and the doors quietly opened. The large living room opened up before you, unnervingly bright and welcoming despite the danger you knew lurked just down the hall. You stepped out onto the carpet, walking towards the kitchen. Your palms sweat, heart pounding, as you made your way up to the cabinets.

You just had to make some noise. Easy, right?

But your body wouldn’t move.

“Y/N.” Steve’s voice called in your ear again, gently coaxing you from where he watched the cameras. “Make some noise, and then head for the stairs.”

You swallowed, nodding again, and reached with shaky hands towards the cabinet. You grabbed a bowl, and hesitantly set it down on the granite counter. The echoing pok of the ceramic felt too loud in your ears, like a gunshot.

“Good, now move quickly. He’s just down the hall headed your way.”

The words sent a chill down your spine… and something else followed. Something you’d never felt before.

You headed towards the stairs, but your feet felt like lead weights. Like you couldn’t move fast enough even though you knew you were going as fast as you could.

But you could hear the faintest scuff of boots coming behind you and the sound sent your heart into a frenzy.

You raced down the stairs, tripping a few times before righting yourself and continuing your decent down towards the lower levels. Your floor was four levels up from ground level, which meant you had six floors in total to descend before you could get to the containment floor.

Six flights of stairs being chased by The Winter Soldier. A superhuman man who was definitely faster than you, and probably wanted to do something terrible to you. Like a wolf hunting a sheep.

Oh God.

The thought only served to spur the panic rising in you. You kicked up your speed when the door slammed behind you, footsteps pounding after you as the dark silhouette of Bucky Barnes rounded the stairs two flights above.

He took the stairs four at a time, his long legs swallowing up the distance between you. The panic clawed its way up your throat in a strangled cry, and the sound just seemed to quicken his pace.

“I’m not fast enough!” You tried to keep your voice even, tried to keep it quiet in the echoing stairwell so that the soldier behind you would hear.

“You’re almost there, Y/N. Just keep up the pace. Two flights left and—“ but he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

You watched in shocked horror as Bucky’s figure leapt over the railing and plummeted towards the ground. He dropped several flights before his arm snapped out and wrapped around the railing. The sound of metal hitting metal rang out around you as the railing dipped under the crushing pressure.

He hauled himself back onto the stairs just before you. Those cold eyes found yours, dark hair framing sharp features, painting him into something primal. Something wild.

That feeling pounded through you again, skittering along your spine and raising the hairs on the back of your neck. You still couldn’t place it, not with him stepping towards you with a look that promised violence.

You heard Steve’s voice ordering something over the earpiece, but it was distant. It became clearer a moment later. “We’ve got a team heading in. Just… just hang in there.”

You swallowed, but your throat had gone dry in the presence of the assassin before you. His eyes held you in place as his towering form finally stopped a stair below you, leveling with you face to face. So close you could count the stitches in the Kevlar of his suit.

You felt your body shaking, heard your heart thundering in your ears as your chest rose and fell with each short breath you managed to drag into your lungs.

And he watched every move you made.

His head titled to the side exactly like it’d done the first time you’d been trapped with him. His gaze never left you, eyes wandering over your face and heaving chest before that faint look of recognition settled into those hollow eyes.

And then that heat you’d seen before consumed them.

He stepped forward, and you answered with a step back. For each one he took, you pedaled backwards until your body was plastered against the wall. When you tried to flee back up the stairs, his metal hand planted itself against the wall inches from your head.

You were utterly trapped.

Rough Russian left his lips in the softest whisper. The sound was the same as you’d heart him say before, though you didn’t understand it.

Not until now, as the earpiece Steve had given you translated his words as he spoke them.

“Hello again, Beloved.”

Those blue eyes bored into yours, as his other hand came up to brush your cheek with a gentleness you didn’t think he was capable of.

“He’s kept me from you for so long.” Bucky’s body leaned forward, caging you against the wall. His metal hand remained pressed against the wall beside you, and the other dragged across the skin of your neck and shoulder in an almost reverent manner.

Bucky’s— no, this wasn’t Bucky. This was the part of Bucky he kept farthest from you. This was a man known for cruel, unimaginable violence. An assassin known by reputation around the world by both hero and criminal alike and feared by all. This was the Winter Soldier.

Winters lips brushed your jaw, stubble tickling the column of your throat as his voice rumbled against your skin. “Kept you to himself. Never let me touch you. Worried I’d damage you, Beloved. Couldn’t see you needed me.”

His teeth nipped at your skin, and a shiver rolled down your spine in answer. That feeling tugged at your mind again, spurred by his words. But still, you couldn’t place it. Not with your mind consumed by his statements and barely contained yearning.

When his head lifted to find your eyes again, the fingers of his right hand tangled themselves in your hair and pulled hard enough to have your scalp stinging. His next words were guttural and biting, “And then he let you go.”

Winters grip loosened a bit, but his hold on your hair remained. “He pushed you away, and then that god tries to take you from me?” His eyes held you, demanding your utter attention as his head shook slowly, “You don’t belong to him.”

Tugging your lip between your teeth, you clenched your eyes shut. God, you wished Bucky would say that to you. Having Winter here saying these words with Bucky’s voice, Bucky’s face. Touching you with familiar hands…

Heat had begun to pool low in your belly.

The words were spoken in English. “Open your eyes.”

There was no room for objection in his voice, so you did as he said. With his jaw was set in an angry line, and those blue eyes boring into your soul, he leaned in closer. “He thinks that being with you is too dangerous, that you aren’t safe with… with us.”

“What?” Your heart hammered in your chest at his words. It was the first real reason as to why Bucky had broken up with you.

Those silvery blue eyes zeroed on your lips as he spoke again. “He thinks we can’t protect you, that I’ll hurt you. That somehow being further from you keeps you safe from what comes with being what we are.” His metal hand left the wall in favor of brushing over your lower lip and trailing the cool tips of his fingers down to the dip of your breasts and back up to the column of your throat. “I’d never hurt you, not the way he has. Not if you didn’t want it.”

“W-what do you mean?” You just knew he was picking up on how your heart beat harder as his fingers trailed over your skin. Or the way you kept shifting on your feet to stave off the heat thrumming in your veins with an all too familiar want blooming and begging for his hands to explore more.

The faintest hint of a smile graced his face as he gave your hair another gentle tug, then loosened his grip once more. “You like this. I’ve seen how you react with him. How you quietly treasure the marks he leaves on your skin even when he feels nothing but guilt.” That metal hand slipped over your throat again and pressed on your neck exactly as he’d done the first time you’d seen Winter. Your head spun at the pressure, but you could breathe easily under the cool press of his palm as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered. “I see how badly you wish he’d touch you with this hand,” he squeezed your neck and loosened it quickly, “How badly you want those marks. How badly you need me.”

You had no words. Nothing to say as he wrung out the truth you’d thought was hidden from him— from Bucky.

Bucky was notorious for avoiding any situation that would make him use the metal arm. He would much rather let it hang there, or act as if he didn’t have it at all. That included when the two of you would get intimate. He never dared to bring it anywhere near you no matter how many times you’d reminded him it was fine, that you weren’t afraid of it. He outright refused to allow it to touch your delicate skin, to let such a catalyst for agony so close to something as precious as you.

Winter knew that you’d secretly craved to feel the cold metal in contrast to his warm skin when he held you. He knew that you would always find it more satisfying when Bucky would lose himself and get rough with you when things got heated. How his flesh hand would leave bruises on your thighs or hips to keep you steady as he thrust himself deeper.

Just the thought had you aching, and here was Bucky’s darker half offering you everything you’d ever wanted.

You were losing your fucking mind.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, but the words were flimsy and meaningless. He knew the truth, but that didn’t mean you had to say it aloud.

His metal fingers dug into your jaw, his grip near bruising as he tilted your head up to level your eyes with his. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Dollface.” His lips were a hairs-width away, his warm breath fanning over your face.

The scent of him was intoxicating, muddling your mind even further with heady leather and metal invading your nose. The hint of that aftershave you’d missed so much since Bucky broke your heart.

Winter was tearing you apart at the seams.

“Please,” you whispered. Please what? You didn’t know. You could hardly think straight. That feeling was so strong, thrumming along with your pulse and the ache for something. Anything.

“Tell me I’m right.” He mumbled against your skin. Soft lips, a vast contrast to his rough demeanor, to the calloused hand that remained tangled in your hair, trailed down your cheek. “Tell me that you want me. Not the pathetic excuse for a god, or him. That you want me.”

His metal hand released your face, drifting over your neck and dragging over the left side of your chest. He circled once, thumbing over your nipple with a knowing look filled with every sinful promise known to man.

And then he went lower and lower…

His fingers caught the waistband of your leggings, the chill of his fingers raised goosebumps across your stomach, only serving to worsen that burning need.

“Doll,” a command and a question wrapped in one word.

All you had to do was admit your darkest most guarded secret. Confess, and he would give you what you wanted most. What Bucky was too afraid to do.

You opened your mouth, the words tumbling out as he gave your hair another tug.

“I want you.”

That smirk grew just a fraction more, his fingers slipping past your waistband and toying with the hem of your panties.

Fuck, did you wish you’d gone commando today.

“Who am I?” He asked, teeth nipping down your neck hard enough to know they’d leave marks. “I want you to say it, Y/N.”

Those fingers slipped further, rolling over your aching clit in a teasing stroke before he pulled them away again.

If he wasn’t a literal assassin, you’d consider strangling him.

“For fucks sake,” you gripped his arm, your voice unfamiliar in your own ears, ragged and broken. “Winter, please.”

He didn’t waste time, deft, cool fingers dipping into your core with confidence. Soothing that aching heat.

Fuck.

His thumb circled slow as he pumped his fingers, his mouth leaving wet kisses along your jaw up to your lips where he paused long enough to catch a glimpse of your face. You knew you looked like an utter mess, but those blue eyes showed nothing but twisted delight. He leaned forward and tugged your bottom lip between his teeth, bitting hard enough to make you groan.

Winter’s answering grunt of approval urged you further towards the edge of oblivion those perfect metal fingers were working you towards.

God you were so close. Each movement, every touch and bruise he left on your skin pushing you closer and closer. Just a bit more, a fraction more and you’d—

His fingers wrenched away, gone in an instant.

Your eyes, closed from the pleasure just moments ago, snapped open just before the doors to the stairway above and below you burst open. Floods of agents filed through the doors, and a gun fired.

The sharp sound echoed in the confined space making you flinch. Winters back pressed you against the wall, a solid shield of muscle keeping you out of harms way.

Then the weight was too heavy. His body crushing you as he slumped toward the floor. You screamed, immediately thinking the worse as your eyes searched his form in a panic.

But you found no blood, thank God.

“He’s fine, Y/N.”

Steve’s hand on your shoulder had you flinching back, head snapping to his suit clad form. “The gun—“

“It’s just a tranq. I promise, Bucky will be fine.” His face was the picture of practiced reassurance.

A horde of agents rushed forward and cuffed Winters hands and dragged his unconscious body out of the stairwell and further towards the confinement room. Steve remained with you, his eyes flicking to your neck a few times and checking you over to make sure no serious damage had been done.

When you’d gotten yourself back to your room away from the prying eyes and the relentless questions, the reality of what had happened slammed into you.

You just let the Winter Soldier finger you in a fucking stairwell.

And you liked it.

Plunging your fingers into your hair, you took a shaky breath. What the fuck were you thinking? Had you lost your damn mind? Bucky broke up with you three months ago! You were done; over, moving on. He could remember this, for Christ sake! How would you explain it?

Panic writhed in your stomach, but so did the faint ache of need that reminded you of what had just happened mere minutes ago.

The feeling of his metal hand on your skin, the feeling of those fingers working you perfectly and the pressure of his bruising grip.

And that feeling that you couldn’t place.

But now you had a word for it.

From the thrum of your heart as he chased you down the stairs, the promise of violence and sinful pleasure in his eyes. The roughness of his actions…

It was the thrill.

You liked the chase. You liked how rough he was. The delicious blend of panic and pleasure.

And he’d been interrupted before you got the release you’d craved. That you needed.

Frustration boiled to the forefront of your mind, a dozen different strategies with it.

He’d made you confess your darkest secret only to leave you high and dry.

And damn him if he wasn’t going to finish what he started.

[ilovedinodino]

…i was so miserable? l. hc smau

26. different (written) wc: 1515

Haechan, as usual, came to the studio first and very early. In fact, he didn't want to come today at all, because he needed to tell you what he knows, otherwise Renjun would do it, and then things would get even worse. But the main reason he didn’t want to come and see you was fear. He was scared and shy to look you in the eyes after finding out you had feelings for him. Of course, he had feelings for you too—very strong ones—but for some reason, your mutual feelings frightened him yesterday. He had been so sure that you would never like him in that way and that he would never have a chance with you. He was prepared for rejection and had accepted that you would never be together. But yesterday, you proved him wrong, and now his head was spinning with emotions. He was overwhelmed and nervous.

Every training session with you had been fun and comfortable, which surprised you. Falling for Haechan after just seven practices wasn’t something you expected. But he truly was special. Haechan was always kind to you. Even when you made mistakes, he never got upset but patiently helped and supported you. He took charge of everything, you could say that he was the leader in your duo and a very caring leader.

Haechan was different. He wasn’t like your ex.

After your breakup with Chanhyun, you were convinced that you didn’t deserve love and that you would never find someone who could truly be a good partner. He never listened to you and pretended that nothing was going on with you and that you didn't have any problems. Chanhyun never cared about you, ignored your feelings as if they didn’t exist. He saw your diaries and notes in secret and hid about it until one day you saw your diary out of place. It broke your heart that even though he saw everything, he didn't try to talk to you. Even when you tried to talk to him and show him how much you were struggling, he remained indifferent.

Haechan was different.

After that experience, you closed yourself off, even from close friends, and only shared your thoughts and feelings online, where no one knew you. You kept telling everyone you were fine, and most people believed you. But not Renjun. Renjun always knew you better than you realized. He saw how unhappy you were with Changhyun and tried to warn you, but you didn’t listen. After your heart was broken, he was the one who stayed by your side. He saw your tears and the depression you sank into. That’s why Renjun became like an older brother to you, protecting, caring for you and didn't let suspicious guys near you. You didn’t mind. At that point, love wasn’t important to you anymore.

You left the café, holding two cheesecakes and a coffee, feeling happy. Today, you and Haechan were finally going to finish your choreography, and you couldn’t wait to show it to your team.

When you entered the studio, you heard familiar music. “Ateez?”

Haechan was sitting on the couch with his phone in hand. Hearing the door open, he looked up. “Oh, Y/N!” “Hi!” you smiled, sitting next to him and placing the cheesecakes and coffee on the small table. “I got one with strawberry and one with chocolate. I hope you’ll like them. This café always has the best cheesecakes!” you said with a sweet smile.

Haechan froze, staring at you. You were so beautiful in that moment, and he felt his love for you grow even stronger. Wait. Love? Did he love you?

“I’m sure they’re the best cheesecakes,” he replied warmly.

You stood up to go change, but suddenly paused as you listened to the music. “Wait, Ateez? Why are you playing them?” “They just had a comeback, so I decided to listen. Plus, you like them.”

You nodded, heading towards the changing room, but a thought crossed your mind: How does he know I like Ateez?

You stopped in the doorway. “Donghyuck?” “Yeah?” “How do you know I like them?”

The air in the room felt heavy. You weren’t smiling anymore, and Haechan noticed, becoming slightly anxious. “You told me! I remember you mentioned them once, so I remembered!” he said, trying to sound confident. “Oh, really?” you replied awkwardly,already believing in his words, but then he added: “I even remember that your bias is Yunho.”

What?

“Yunho?” “Yeah, you like him a lot, don’t you?” “I never said Yunho was my bias.” “You did.” “No.” “Yes, Y/N, you…” “No. My bias is Seonghwa, not Yunho. And, by the way, I’ve never even mentioned Seonghwa before. Yet you’re claiming I talked about Yunho.”

Why was Haechan so sure about this? What made him think that? How did he even know you liked Ateez? Did you ever tell him?

You froze. “Y/N, are you okay?”

Haechan’s behavior was suspicious. You started recalling all the moments when he unexpectedly showed up when you needed something. You thought he was just attentive, but no, that didn’t seem to be the case.

You remembered how he suddenly gave you chocolates. How he comforted you when you were anxious. How he unexpectedly suggested going for a walk. How someone "randomly" transferred you money when you needed it. How you suddenly started hearing Ateez songs and that your bias is Yunho. And finally, you noticed how Haechan’s attitude toward you had changed. He became more cautious and caring. If he used to joke around and tease you often, now he was entirely different.

Haechan had changed. Haechan knew.

“Do you know about my Twitter?” you asked sharply, looking at him.

Haechan froze, panic spreading across his face. “T-Twitter? Of course, I know. Everyone knows. You know mine too, right?” He let out an awkward laugh, trying to play it off.

“My private account.”

From his reaction, you realized everything. He knew about your Twitter. He knew all your thoughts and struggles.

Haechan swallowed hard and stood up, looking you in the eye. “Y/N, I...”

“You know about my account, Haechan.”

Haechan froze. You never called him Haechan; you were the only one who always used his real name. Hearing his nickname from you in such a cold tone hurt him deeply. “No, no... I’m Donghyuck, not Haechan,” he stammered.

“And here I thought you were just attentive, but instead, you stayed silent and kept it all to yourself?” Your eyes welled up with tears as you stepped away from him.

Haechan panicked and stepped closer, trying to take your hands in his. “Y/N, let me explain everything... It was an accident...”

“God, Renjun was right...” You stepped even further away and lowered your head. Haechan saw tears streaming down your face.

“Y/N, Y/N, I didn’t mean to. I came across it accidentally, please hear me out.”

“You seriously read everything about me, and...” You raised your head, and Haechan froze. “How am I supposed to dance that choreo with you after this?”

Haechan’s heart shattered. “Please, Y/N, hear me out. I didn’t find out that long ago. I wanted to tell you, but I was scared. I was afraid you’d shut me out. We were never that close, and I thought this was a good way to understand you better. I genuinely wanted to help you.”

“You wanted to know me without asking me directly? You know, maybe it’s my fault for not locking my account. It’s not your fault—it’s mine,” you said bitterly.

“No, Y/N, you’re not to blame. Please, don’t say that.”

“Haechan, I just don’t know how to talk to you now, knowing that you know everything about me. Knowing I..." "...I was so miserable?"

“Y/N, don’t say that. Please. You’re not awful. There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“It hurts to know that you now know my worst secrets, but I don’t know anything about you except the image you show to others.”

Haechan stood there, stunned. He watched you breathe rapidly, and he himself was on the verge of tears. “That’s not true! You know a lot about me already, and if you want, I can open up to you even more.”

“So you know that I have feelings for you,” you interrupted, recalling your tweet.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, but I want to go home. I can’t dance,” you said as you started gathering your things.

“Y/N, please don’t shut me out. We need to talk...”

You stayed silent.

“Do you want me to tell Jeno that we can’t show our dance? I’ll tell him it’s my fault. I won’t mention you.”

You still said nothing, a lump in your throat stopping you from speaking. Haechan wanted to hug you but feared crossing another line.

“I...” you stammered. “Tell him whatever you want,” you said and walked out of the studio.

Haechan wanted to run after you. He didn’t want to leave you in such a state, knowing he had caused it. But he stayed frozen, staring at the door, tears welling up in his eyes.

Was Haechan different?

-------

prev / masterlist / next

note: I put my soul here. It was so funny to me when you all thought that renjun was jealous and in love with her😭 renjun is my favourite here btw

taglist (open) : @alethea-moon @dinonuguaegi @jenoleeaesthetic @gukuwii @doughyk @elsbunny @dudekiss3r @yuthabitz @thegracerammy @soobinbunnie5 @joyzluvr @yewshi @miniature-tragedy @jaymelee @foxy-kitsune @slayhaechan @chibilino @sleepyvic @minkyuncutie @olladecaramelos @samvagejkflxhrt @gomdoleemyson @nctjunie @ypoom151999

[cosmicjoke]

How the Shattered Teacup Represents Total Loss:

I can't believe there are people that actually say this moment, with Levi crying, was awkward or out of character. Takes like that are just so bereft of any nuanced thinking and, honestly, I find it insulting to Levi as a character and the seriousness of what he's just gone through in this story.

They're talking about a ten year old boy who's just had to kill for the first time, who was nearly beaten to death and threatened with being sold into sexual slavery, and who's only solace in a life of absolute hell is this single, good memory of him and his mother drinking tea together. A memory that's already vague in his mind, already insubstantial.

I think it's absolutely purposeful how Isayama shows only a portion of Kuchel's face in Levi's memory of her, slightly out of focus and cast in quite literally an idyllic light. It's meant to indicate that he doesn't remember her clearly. And Levi says as much, when he says the only thing he remembers clearly is her elegance. All he's left with is an impression of her, then. An outline of who she was. That we don't really see her eyes, but only her smile, leaving her in Levi's mind an unknowable enigma, a woman of beauty, stood out in his mind for how sharply that beauty contrasted with the filth and decay of the rest of his world, but not much else. No doubt the memory of her is fading further under the deluge of suffering and horror that makes up the rest of his life.

These same people who say things like Levi crying here is out of character also seem to think that the reason Levi is crying is literally because the cup broke, that the cup breaking represents nothing deeper or more meaningful, and that's why they think it's weird. I can't think of a more simple-minded way of reading this scene, written by an author known for his nuance and use of subtext.

The cup shattering is a metaphor for Levi experiencing total loss. The loss of his innocence, the loss of his connection to his mother, to the warmth of that memory of her, to any sense of comfort or goodness, all to be replaced with the bleak reality of his existence in the Underground, a world of merciless cruelty and violence and a reminder of his own loneliness. He's crying because it's the last vestiges of his hope shattering and, as I've spoken about before in my original analysis of this scene, I think Levi's tears are also rooted in this sense of fear that he's somehow sullied his mother's memory by killing those men. That's such a tragic thought, because Levi didn't sully her memory at all, even as her memory has indeed been sullied, which I'll talk about in a moment. But it's not Levi who sullied it. He was just doing what he had to to survive. He killed purely in self-defense. It wasn't wrong of him to do so. But that also exposes the insidious nature and the cruelty of what the man in the glasses said to Levi, planting this thought in his head that his mother would be disappointed or disgusted in him for killing.

When you think about the fact that the only good thing Levi has in his life is this memory of his mother, this single memory of her elegance that he regards with so much importance precisely because it's the only good experience he can ever recall having, and then you realize that memory and experience has now been so horribly, irrevocably tainted by what he's just gone through, the trauma of killing for the first time, it really puts into perspective the weight of this loss for Levi.

It makes perfect sense, then, why he bursts into tears. It also makes clear why we see Levi's trauma manifesting as an adult, in his habit of holding his cups by the rim instead of the handle. It isn't a fear of his cups breaking that makes Levi do this, it's because his mother's teacup shattering is representative in his mind of losing her for good and he plainly doesn't want to live through the pain of that again.

The only good thing he had to cling to in a life of suffering, the only thing of purity left in his life, has now been destroyed by the very environment and world that took his mother from him to begin with. Again, it wasn't Levi who sullied his mother's memory, but those men who attacked him, and the nature of the world Levi is living in itself.

This is the moment where we see Levi finally lose everything. He has nothing left after this. Like he said, his power awoke, Kenny disappeared, and the only thing that hadn't disappeared were the memories of his mother. But those memories have, from this moment on, forever been spoiled by the trauma of what those men did to him and forced him to do in turn. Levi won't ever again be able to find the same solace or comfort in the memory of his mother that he once did. The cup shattering, and Levi crying, is meant to represent the completeness of that loss. It's like he's lost his mother all over again, but this time, for good. He no longer even has that memory of her to retreat into as an escape from his horrible life, because it's been dirtied by what he's just gone through. He'll now forever associate the memory of his mother with the trauma of having to kill to survive.

It's so messed up and I don't think people have really given enough thought to just how tragic this moment is. And once again, I think it only serves to reiterate what a miracle it is, that through this total loss of anything good in his life, even something as basic and insubstantial as a faded impression of his mother's beauty, Levi was still able to be a genuinely good person. The kind of strength that would take, mentally and emotionally, is something truly special. Faced with such absolute cruelty and loss, instead of becoming cruel himself and wanting to rob others of their comfort, instead of becoming bitter and consumed by hatred, Levi instead became someone who always leads with compassion and kindness, who is always willing go give up his own comfort to ease the suffering of others.