#there was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt

[chloesimaginationthings]

The Aftons are a very normal FNAF couple

[ipsomaniac]

argh this moment is so sad but also makes me boggle at the skill of the directors and animators. such smart framing and body language for the purpose of hurting meeee.

Earlier in the scene when Viktor emerges from the hex-cocoon we don't see his body as a whole; we get a bunch of close ups of various body parts. This works from a storytelling perspective - immediately showing us the enormity of his transformation - but also conveys Viktor's dehumanised perspective, self-alienation, and the disoriented proprioception he must be experiencing.

The first shot in this gifset is striking, showing Jayce's astonished face framed through Viktor's decontextualised arms. Viktor appears here as a depersonalised, geometric, monumental negative space, his metallic purple body contrasting with the warm golden tones of Jayce's skin. Jayce's humanness vs. Viktor's alienness highlighted through colour theory, framing, shape and scale.

Then we get an immediate flip of perspective when Viktor asks "What am I?": we see someone incredibly vulnerable. That momentary beseeching upwards glance, at the same time as we finally get a clear shot of him and are reminded of his former physical frailty. Although he's now metal and magic, he's still narrow-shouldered and pigeon-chested with the remnants of his brace etched permanently onto his skin. The camera angle is slightly above him, making him look even smaller.

Then the sequence of facial expressions after Jayce says, "You're alive." These animators man. The sweaty wired sleepless exhaustion, the disbelieving little eye-roll and delirious smile of relief, the flash of a pained expression as he goes up to hug Viktor. No trace of the Golden Boy, just a groggy human mess with a lot of feelings.

And that hug..... !!!!!! how could they do this. Both characters are in a state of (semi)-nudity. Viktor is naked and Jayce is topless save for his bandages. Leaving shipping aside, as a point of emotional storytelling it's important that this is full skin-on-skin contact - I think the first we see for these characters in the show. This is a moment of maximum vulnerability, it should be a moment of openness...

But it's all wrong!!! The body language is on stratospherically different wavelengths: the physical impact of Jayce colliding with Viktor, how his naive exhuberence contrasts with Viktor's reserve, how he unintentionally dwarfs and smothers Viktor in the hug. For Jayce the hug is a pure, unselfconscious expression of emotion; whereas Viktor looks like he's drowning, his elbow awkwardly jutting out, his arm a symbolic barrier between them.

Then some of the saddest facial expressions in the show I think. You can basically see Viktor's gears turning as he processes the hug, you get this momentary eyebrow raise as he analyses his own perceptions and then this absolutely heartbreaking sequence of expressions while he raises his hand to Jayce's shoulder for the last embrace they will share until their deaths. Up for interpretation what exactly is going through Viktor's mind here but I imagine the hug is a catalyst for him to realise how profoundly alienated he is from his humanity and former perspective, and what that means for his partnership with Jayce. His physical senses feel different; there's a *recursive impulse* where his emotions used to be; a claustrophobic compulsion to get out of the suffocating embrace of Piltover politics and human messiness that Jayce represents. He's got to leave. But it pains him, at least momentarily. He registers the loss of himself through the loss of Jayce. You see his face contort and for a very brief second it looks like he's grieving. I think this is the last proper emotion he shows in the physical realm.

And then the rest of the scene is maybe even worse tbh but more so through dialogue. Here what strikes me is the sheer genius of the framing and animation. Arcane goes so crazy on colour, composition and micro-expressions and it's used to great effect in this scene. anyway

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x02 - “Watch It All Burn”

[jaggedamethyst]

easy (part 2) (bucky barnes x gn!reader)

content: secret relationship/established relationship, miscommunication/misunderstanding, angst, self-doubt, mentions of death, cheating (kind of), not proofread

notes: part two this this...good luck lmao (a short one but it’s the right length i fear)

main masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

You’d been woken up by the sounds of knocks on your door. They started off normal and quickly became more frantic…aggressive, even. 

The sound of your name made you sit up on the floor. Suddenly, the door pushed open—revealing Bucky there. His hair was disheveled, clearly having run his hands through it. He hadn’t bothered with saying hi, kneeling in front of you and looking you over.

He cupped your face, “Are you okay?” He pressed into you more, nudging you to sit up. “What are you doing down here?”

You reached out to him, making sure you hadn’t tricked yourself, that he was really here. 

He continued, “What happened? Sharon said you disappeared and she couldn’t find you.” 

Somehow Bucky was missing the point. You could only blink at that, knowing that his energy was so misplaced. Why would he care about you right now when this entire relationship had so quickly gone awry? Why would he focus on you being on the floor when he ruined this—him. 

Bucky spoke again, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. “I called you a shit ton, where’s your phone?” 

“Don’t know.” 

He paused, confused at your first and only words to him being so carelessly spoken. “Steve said he saw you—that you just…ran.“ 

You nodded. You had ran. Swift motions out of the building and to your place weren’t enough to erase the imagery in your brain. The way Bucky had seemed so carefree—so happy. With someone who wasn’t you, most importantly. A woman who looked so remarkably different than you. 

Your skin and body physically repelled him—pushing him away without a thought. Moving to stand, you watched his face twist in hurt. 

“How was recon?” 

“It was fine…am I missing something?” 

You ignored the question, asking your own. “You said Steve told you he saw me?” He nodded. “Did he know who I was?”

“Course he knew who you were—he’s my best friend.” 

You bought your in front of you, wringing them together. “Does she?” The question was meant to quell your anxiety, but instead made the prospect of him cheating infinitely harder to swallow. You looked at him expectantly, an answer seeming to escape him—despite you both knowing what happened that evening. 

“Does who?” 

“Natasha…Romanoff…the one you went on recon with.” You moved your head as you slowly spoke the words—breaking it down for him. “Does she know about me? About us?” 

“You know that we keep this a secret for your safety. We’ve talked about this a thousand times-“ 

“No, you keep it a secret and you've talked about it.” You moved to sit on the couch, “I agreed because I love you and I understand the stress of your job. But what I saw today,” you shook your head and looked up at him across the room. “That wasn’t a secret for my benefit. It was for yours.” 

“That’s just not true.” Bucky moved from his spot, finally, stepping across the room to sit beside you. “You have to understand my perspective on this. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I was the cause of anything happening to you.”

You twisted your entire face, staring up with an incredulous look. “Did you stop to consider how much worse it would be to have to live with the knowledge of you doing god knows what every time you’re not here?” You paused, feeling his hands attempt to wrap around you. Moving back instantly, you continued, “What happened with her? What haven’t I seen?” 

“Nothing.” Bucky waved his hands in front of him, emphasizing his words. “Nothing happened-“ 

“I saw you. Sharon showed me the feed, Bucky.” 

His face glazed over in realization—not that you had seen him with her, but that you had seen him with her. Bucky’s head started to move on its own, searching for how to make sense of this for you. “That wasn’t what it looked like.” 

A huff escaped you. Without a second thought you got up and moved toward the door, Bucky right on your trail. “If we’re gonna act like this you can just go.” You put a hand on the door handle, raising a brow at him. “You of all people know I won’t sit here and look stupid. Not when I’ve already wasted so much time waiting for you.” 

A moment passed, the reality of what you were saying lingering in the room. The two of you had talked about it before, how you’d waited so long for someone like him to appear. There’d been years of self discovery and “loving yourself first” before Bucky showed you that someone else could. When that happened, you settled for the relationship existing in its very specific confines—under the lock and key of his life’s restrictions. Even then, he’d get a call; people needed him. Bucky would go away for however long, and you’d wait. The amount of time spent yearning for the world to suddenly be quicker for you, for him, was immense. In every instance it seemed that despite the relatively common cosmic occurrences he’d faced, none of Bucky’s opponents could grant your wish—to get the man you loved back to you sooner. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally spoke. You watched his hands ball into a fist, angered with himself. The mechanical whir of his arm filling the empty space. “I don’t feel that way about her.” 

You scoffed at that. He sounded so textbook it was physically making you ill. 

He continued, though, “She’s been my friend for a long time. We spend a lot of time together…and I wanted to tell her about you.” He inhaled, “But I didn’t. I don’t know why.” 

“Did you sleep with her?” 

“Of course not…and she kissed me. I regret making her feel like there was even a slight chance of me seeing her that way—because I don’t. I can’t.” His voice wavered, “Can’t because I only love you.”

He reached a hand out to you and it caused you to move away from him—impossibly closer to the door. 

“Bucky…I don’t think I can do this.” 

“Doll, please-“

You waved a hand, interrupting him, “Wait—just…listen.” You let go of the door, fully looking at him now. “I don’t think I can be with you if it’s like this.” He let you continue, “I know you want to protect me, but all of this has hurt me more than it could’ve ever helped. I feel so removed from you—like I don’t know you outside of our apartment walls.” Sweat had accumulated on your palms, making you realize how anxiety-inducing this had been. “I haven’t felt confident in myself around you in…a while-“

“But-“ 

“Bucky, please.” He nodded, stilling himself in commitment to let you speak. “That’s not your fault…but I think I need space to figure out why that is.” 

Bucky whispered your name, a shakiness on his voice. “I just…can’t stomach the idea of you dead…dying...because of me.” 

“I would’ve.” You moved to open the door. “I think I would’ve been fine facing death as long as everyone knew I loved you first.” You stepped back from the threshold and offered him the space to step out. “But they don’t. Nobody knows except us. That hurts.” 

Bucky didn’t speak as he stepped toward the hall. His entire figure seemed to hang lower than normal, and it pained you to see. You felt the heat of tears in your eyes, but you wouldn’t cry. There was a sort of satisfaction in facing this—breaking up with Bucky. It was always going to happen, you reasoned, so bearing your soul…crying…would’ve been too easy.  

tags (tried to get everyone who asked lol)

@julvrs @shanksstrawhat @vicmc624 @preeyas-world @ilovemcuff @winchestert101 @caity1995 @hereforfun-31 @cjand10 @nadinekr @wintercrows @read-just-cant @behindmygreyeyes @ordelixx @pklol @bookworm3570 @largarei @fairlyfatale @kittenkiryu

[kaivenom]

Can you do OP dilfs get jumpscared by their s/o. Like they manage to actually jumpscare them. Whether a little or a lot or how they do it is up to you

One Piece Dilfs getting jumpscared by their s/o HCS

Characters: Mihawk, Doflamingo, Crocodile, Smoker,Shanks.

A/N: lately, all you people are getting really creative with the requests and i am loving it.

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

You were tired of being jumpscared by him, you already asked him to do some noise when he enters a room but he still doesn't do it.

So you were determined to give him a taste of his own medicine.

He came back from a trip so he would expect to be welcomed by you but it wasn't.

You even set some previous traps to mislead him, your strategy was perfect.

When you came from behind one of the warrior monkeys (yes, you had to do a make a deal with them, it was worth it) and you jumped around him.

He didn't yell nor make a sound, but he jumped and became paralized, his eyes were wide open with fear.

"Jajaja, i got you."

He turned around with his and on the heart and heavy breaths.

"Please, don't do that again."

"Now you know how it feels like."

Donquixote Doflamingo

He challenged you and you of course accepted.

You tried multiple times and failed eveyone of them.

"I am sorry for you darling."

"Yeah, i should take this as a defeat." you said while crawling to his lap.

"Yeah, you should..."

And then the last and desperate part of your plan finally succeed, you placed a big fake spider on his shoulder and he screamed while trying to take it off.

After he realized it was your fault, he started to laugh like a maniac.

"My god, you got me there, jajjaja, you managed to scare me..."

Suddently his laugh stopped and he approached you with a mischiveous smile.

"Now you will get your prize, or more like your punishment."

Sr. Crocodile

It was a prank that you decided to do while he was on the office, more like a little surprise.

You made the secretary move the box in which you were to Crocodile's office.

When you heard him enter you came out with a confetti gun, you wanted to be like those movie girls.

Instead he put his hand on his heart and started to say a lot of swear words, you never saw him like that.

"Out."

You couldn't argue and went out of his office, really sad.

A couple of minutes later he went to your side and maked a fuss to you, then he kissed you for trying to surprise him.

Smoker

He doesn't expect you to jumpscare him so it's really easy in fact.

You on your part, wanted to do scare him, no doubt about it.

Since he got a little bratty with you on work, you decided to get payback.

You set the vibe of the house, really creepy and dark, of course he isn't scared at first.

Then you decided to go on with the extreme part of it, the jumpscares.

A fake snake hanging on the door to mislead him and then you with a mask.

You appeared behind him and when he saw you, he yelled something between a scream and a yell and formed a smoke cloud around you.

"Son of a b... honey?" you were slamed against the wall and your whole body hurt.

"This happens to you for doing stupid and crazy ideas..." he exhaled, "i am so sorry for hitting you."

"At least we know your reflexes are on point." he kissed the pain away.

Akagami Shanks

You are in fact, really noiseless so when you two first moved in together, you tried to have than in mind.

Always knocking before entering or simplu doing noises with your foot to not scare anyone on the ship.

But after a week, you were on the cellar of the ship, doing some inventory, nothing to much.

Shanks entered, probably to open a bottle.

He started to wander around the shelves, you didn't notice his pressence at first.

Then you do, cause he is the noisy one, and went to meet him.

You thought that it would be cute to hug him from behind, but...

"Oh my god, a ghost on the ship!!!!" he got scared of your touch, jumped, screamed that and almost fainted.

You don't know how that happened since he had haki, but he almost had a hear attack and you felt really bad.

[logansbelt]

౨ৎ ‎ ♡₊˚・₊✧ I need to cry in Logan’s arms, that’s all I want—nothing more. Maybe I’m depending on fiction too much or dealing with father issues, wait …

who said that? I have wrote similar prompts floating around, but I didn’t bother rereading them. It’s simple really do I want him to manhandle me or take care of me?౨ৎ ‎ ♡₊˚・₊✧

I’m going to sleep now goodnight 🤍

Knees pulled to your chest, staring at the wall without really seeing it. The ache in your chest had been building all day, suffocating and relentless, until it finally broke through, leaving you raw and trembling.

Logan was quiet in the doorway, watching you. He’d noticed the shift in you earlier, the way your laughter had been forced, the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were good at hiding it—too good—but Logan had been around long enough to see through it.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, his voice gravelly but gentle.

You flinched at the sound of his voice, your arms tightening around your knees. You didn’t look at him, afraid that if you did, the floodgates would open completely.

Logan stepped closer, his heavy footsteps muffled against the carpet. He crouched in front of you, his rough hands resting on your knees as he tried to meet your gaze.j

“Hey,” he murmured, his tone softer now. “Talk to me. What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”

Your throat tightened, and tears blurred your vision as you shook your head. “I’m fine,” you whispered, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue.

“Don’t do that,” Logan said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Don’t shut me out.”

The dam broke then, a sob tearing from your throat as you buried your face in your hands. The weight of everything you’d been holding back—the fear, the doubt, the pain—came crashing down all at once.

Logan didn’t say a word. He simply wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. His grip was strong and steady, his presence grounding as he held you close.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Let it out.”

You clung to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as sobs wracked your body. The sound of your cries filled the room, and Logan just held you tighter, one hand running soothingly up and down your back.

“I’m scared,” you finally choked out, your voice trembling.

Logan pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His rough hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears as he met your gaze.

“Scared of what, honey’?” he asked gently.

“Of you leaving,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Of… of you deciding I’m too much, or that I’m not enough. Everyone leaves, Logan. Everyone.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might get angry. But then his expression softened, his eyes filled with something so tender it made your chest ache.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. You hear me? I’m not like those fuckers.”

You tried to look away, but he held your face firmly, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“I know you’ve been hurt,” he continued, his voice softer now. “I know you’ve been let down, left behind. But I ain’t them. I’m here, and I’m stayin’ here. You’re stuck with me, sweetheart.”

“You promise?” you whispered, your voice shaky.

Logan leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “I promise,” he said firmly. “I’ll fight anyone or anything that tries to take me away from you. You don’t have to be scared of that.”

You nodded, letting his words sink in, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the knot in your chest loosened just a little.

Logan pulled you back into his arms, holding you close as you let out a shaky breath. His hand moved to your hair, his fingers threading through it gently as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re not too much,” he murmured against your hair. “And you’re more than enough. Don’t you ever doubt that.”

You stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in his arms, your head resting against his chest as his heartbeat steadied you. The storm inside you wasn’t gone, but it felt a little quieter now, a little more manageable with him by your side.

And as Logan held you, whispering soft reassurances into your ear, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you could believe him. Because Logan wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t going anywhere.

You’d been crying for what felt like an eternity, your sobs quieting to sniffles and shaky breaths as exhaustion began to creep in. His shirt was damp where your face had been buried, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was keeping you close, holding you together when you felt like you were falling apart.

“I’m not leavin’, darlin’,” Logan murmured against the crown of your head, his voice a gravelly whisper. “Not now, not ever. You hear me?”

You didn’t respond, too drained to speak, but you nuzzled closer to him, your fingers clutching at his shirt as if to anchor yourself. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his heart breaking at how small and fragile you felt in his arms.

Minutes turned into an hour, the weight of your pain slowly easing as his warmth surrounded you. His steady heartbeat beneath your ear and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lulled you into a fragile sense of safety.

Eventually, your breathing evened out, and your grip on his shirt loosened. Logan glanced down to find you asleep, your face soft and peaceful despite the tear stains on your cheeks.

He adjusted you carefully, tucking a blanket around you while keeping you snug against him. His calloused hand continued to stroke your back in slow circles, even though you were already lost to sleep.

“Rest easy, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. “I’ll be right here.”

[sofiatarot]

Pick a card: Changes heading your way

leave a tip🌙

1.2

3.4

Because the only constant in life is change. Everything is always in motion—days pass, seconds tick away, and nothing stays the same. Even now, you’re in the midst of change, caught in what feels like an "in-between" moment, a quiet pause before the next chapter unfolds.

Let’s explore where this moment is taking you and what shifts are beginning to appear on your horizon. What changes will you soon start to see?

Group 1: A time of release and renewal

You may feel as though you're standing at the edge of a difficult chapter, carrying weight that doesn’t fully belong to you. There’s a sense of overextending yourself, possibly to meet the expectations of others, leaving little energy to focus on your own needs. This is a moment to evaluate what you’re holding onto and ask if it’s worth the strain.

The quiet pull toward rest and reflection is growing stronger. You might find yourself longing for solitude, a break from the constant demands of life. This pause isn’t a setback—it’s a chance to gather strength and realign with what truly matters to you.

Though it’s tempting to avoid the deeper questions, ignoring them will only delay the inevitable. There’s an underlying sense that a difficult truth is surfacing, one you’ve perhaps tried to suppress. Facing it head-on will clear the fog and bring clarity to what lies ahead.

Old wounds or disappointments may linger in the background, reminding you of the lessons you’ve learned. While this reflection can feel painful, it’s also a gateway to growth and a release from patterns that no longer serve you.

Your next steps require letting go of what no longer supports your journey. Whether it’s outdated beliefs, toxic connections, or unhelpful habits, releasing these burdens will create space for new opportunities and a lighter sense of being.

Even in the midst of uncertainty, you are being called to reclaim your sense of direction and power. There’s strength within you waiting to emerge, and the more you trust yourself, the clearer your path will become.

A gentle reminder: you are not meant to carry everything alone. Allow yourself to seek support, whether through loved ones or moments of quiet connection with your inner self.

This is not the end of the road but the start of something more aligned with your true desires. Trust the process, even if the destination feels unclear for now.

Group 2: Embracing transformational choices

You’re entering a pivotal moment where your inner voice is louder than ever, urging you to listen closely. Decisions made now will ripple into your future, shaping the life you wish to create. However, there’s a tension between balancing multiple priorities and the need to focus on what truly matters.

Burnout might be creeping in, and it’s important to recognize when to step back and recharge. Pushing forward without rest can leave you feeling disconnected from your own energy and drive. This is a time to pause and reassess your goals.

You may feel torn between conflicting energies: the desire to lead and take charge versus a pull toward grounding yourself in stability. There’s a lesson here about finding balance—learning when to act boldly and when to cultivate patience and security.

Endings and beginnings are colliding, inviting you to release what no longer aligns with your growth. This process can feel uncomfortable, especially when it challenges deeply held attachments or beliefs. But these shifts are necessary for creating space for something better.

Relationships may also feel like a focal point now. Choices about who you invest your time and energy in will have lasting effects. It’s a moment to evaluate whether connections support your growth or hold you back.

Your journey forward requires trust—not just in others, but in yourself. Doubts may arise, but they’re only reflections of past fears. Moving through them with courage will lead you to a stronger sense of self.

Though the path ahead may not be fully clear, trust that you’re being guided toward a brighter, more fulfilling destination. Lean into the uncertainty; it’s where transformation happens.

Every decision now carries weight, but the most important one is choosing to align with what feels true to your heart. This alignment will guide you toward the stability and joy you seek.

Group 3: Clarity rmerging from chaos

You may feel as though the ground beneath you is shifting, leaving you uncertain about your next steps. There’s a sense of restlessness and frustration, as though the plans you’ve made aren’t unfolding as expected. However, this period of pause is not a failure—it’s an opportunity to recalibrate.

Emotions that once felt overwhelming are beginning to clear, revealing truths that were previously hidden. As clarity emerges, so does a deeper understanding of what you truly desire. This is a moment to reconnect with your inner purpose and realign with your long-term goals.

The energy around you is dynamic, urging you to take action toward what excites and inspires you. While doubts may linger, there’s a growing sense of confidence and drive to pursue opportunities that align with your vision. The passion within you is a powerful force, ready to break free.

Relationships play a key role in this phase. Whether romantic or platonic, connections are shifting to reflect your evolving priorities. Some may fade as you grow, while others deepen in ways you didn’t anticipate.

New beginnings are within reach, bringing with them the potential for financial and emotional stability. However, these opportunities require focused effort and a clear sense of direction. Avoid distractions that might pull you away from your path.

As you move forward, there’s a reminder to release any lingering fears or doubts about your abilities. The potential for success is strong, but it requires trusting yourself and taking calculated risks.

While the road ahead may feel uncertain, the steps you’re taking now are setting the foundation for long-term growth and fulfillment. Trust in your ability to adapt and thrive.

Your journey is leading you toward a place of abundance and connection. Stay open to the possibilities around you, and don’t hesitate to embrace the changes coming your way.

Group 4: Breakthrough and liberation

You’ve been navigating a period of emotional intensity, but the weight of past struggles is beginning to lift. The clarity you’ve been searching for is now within reach, bringing a sense of renewed purpose and direction.

This is a time of self-discovery and transformation. You’re stepping into a phase where your confidence and emotional strength are guiding you forward. Challenges that once felt insurmountable now seem manageable, and you’re beginning to trust in your ability to overcome them.

The path ahead is one of movement and momentum. There’s a sense of forward progress, even if it’s not immediately visible. Trust that each step you take is bringing you closer to your goals, no matter how small it seems.

Relationships and connections are evolving, reflecting your own personal growth. Some bonds may require adjustment, while others offer the support and encouragement you need to keep moving forward.

The energy of transformation is strong now, signaling the end of old cycles and the beginning of new opportunities. While change can feel uncomfortable, it’s also a chance to realign with your true desires and values.

Your resilience and determination are being rewarded. The lessons of the past have prepared you for this moment, and you’re now stepping into a phase of expansion and achievement.

Though the journey may still have its challenges, you are fully equipped to handle them. Embrace your inner strength and the wisdom you’ve gained from past experiences.

This is a time to celebrate how far you’ve come and look forward to what’s ahead. The possibilities are endless, and you are ready to embrace them with courage and optimism.

xoxo✨️✨️

[badly-drawn-doflamingo]

I think I’ve figured it out, that missing piece.

My partner mentioned to me off handedly “Brook is Austrian, isn’t he?” and that alone has just resurfaced this post, and along with it, the missing ties I believe I’ve possibly solved.

In figure 3, 4 and 5, we see Brook react unlike himself, bristling and biting back against a very certain group, and only this group so far has caused this reaction; Germa 66.

We hear how he seemingly has dealt with them first hand, his age not being a factor due to the fact he was isolated, even if he tries to brush it off to Reiju as shown in Fig. 5. This sounds like personal experience, and that is expected both due to his confirmed military time AND because of actual real world history.

The Anschluss took place in March 12, 1938, being the forceful taking of Austria by Nazi Germany. This was not opposed by nearby countries due both to fear and bias, and no aid was sent until much later, when the damage had already been done. Now, knowing how Oda mixes his history such as Ceaser and the sickening unit 713 experiments, and Che Guevara and Dragon, WW1-WW2 are not off the table what so ever. If Oda went this route, taking inspiration from these events and twisting it into Brook's story, it would solve all questions I had left open in the above document;

Brook lost his kingdom to Germa 66 or at least faced heavy damages by their military, and the World Government did nothing but enforced them as their own royal family, excusing them of their actions and crimes. What's worse than being a pirate? Being a Nazi. Of course you'd join some red neck, even if it meant being below him, it's freedom and its your own morals against the land that betrayed you. How do you protect people as a fallen knight? Do the next best thing, spread joy with your other talent; music. Brook is the type to stay with his men however morals come first, and I highly doubt he would simply go along with such a change, if this IS the case, which I highly suspect it is. We hear a lot from Brook and how he handles himself, and fleeing for any other reason other than desperation seems off the table. It would have to be something monstrous to make him change sides, and this would absolutely be it. Keep an eye in the future for more information on the West Blue, for it seems to be a war sea, including Issoh's blinding of himself due to seeing the atrocities and crimes the government and war itself did to his people, and people like Laffite who were so terrible they were utterly banished. God Valley and Ohara are also places that once stood in the West Blue, however it seems there is more to be explored in the future.

Brook’s Past, Military and Everything Between [ An Essay kinda ]

Brook’s past is not a thing many people seem to mention or think about, at least in full, however it’s something that's plagued me. Not only as a Brook fan, but simply out of the odd implications it has towards the future, if any. Oda’s planted too many seeds for it to utterly be nothing; there’s so much odd and seemingly out of place comments and facts stated by Brook and others towards this missing history. However, knowing that the show is beginning to near it’s end, due to time, I am unsure of what exactly will be done.

I believe however, for folks' interest and so we can have everything in one place, that compiling everything found so far can be beneficial, so, I have.

Starting with what we know for sure, Brook is from the West Blue, born 90 years ago to a certain kingdom, the same kingdom he was a military convoy leader from. We know this due to a few factors, however it’s still open to debate if it *is* the same kingdom, however seeing as he was shown as a child to already know what fencing is, practicing moves with his bow, I am just going to say he probably was. In any case, other things worth noting, on the topic of childhood, is that Brook seems to have had money. At least, stability.

Compared to a lot of the other strawhats, Brook is shown dressing very nice. No tatters, no tears, shined shoes and a full violin and bow. He also, as already stated, seemed to be exposed to fencing enough to mirror the moves. If this comes from his kingdom, it means he was exposed to it at a young age. Knowing that he was a military convoy leader, this could be taken that perhaps there were military demonstrations, perhaps the kid saw castle guard or other displays; it’s really up in the air.

We know Brook, again as stated before, became a military convoy leader. Now, the definition of what exactly that means can differ.

Wikipedia states; A convoy is a group of vehicles, typically motor vehicles or ships, traveling together for mutual support and protection. Often, a convoy is organized with armed defensive support and can help maintain cohesion within a unit. It may also be used in a non-military sense, for example when driving through remote areas.

This could mean Brook’s job could’ve been accompanying ships for protection, being a knight for his King, mediating information and goods that come in and out of the kingdom. This would make sense on why his speed was needed, a 9.2 ft man being a great choice for a leader.

His weapon also would make sense for this kind of mission, perhaps secrecy being important or at least the ability to be discreet. His cane sword, a ‘Shikomizue’, is not unique however to just him in the show, one other man using one that has been confirmed so far, that being Fujitora. The pair also share a sea, the west, and both utilize iaijutsu (quick draw techniques.) Fujitora blinded himself with said sword because of something apparently so cruel and inhumane that he rather not see anguish. This may be related to Brook’s departure from his kingdom, which is addressed later in this essay. (Fig 3-5.)

Another thing that’s worth mentioning here is Brook’s attack patterns, being unique even for his kingdom apparently. Once again, during the Ryuma fight, Brook states, and I quote;

“Ryuma: “Now tell me, what part of that wretched excuse for a body would you like me to severe with my special ‘Arrow Notch Slash?’ Brook: You don’t know a thing about that move, so do not use it’s name. I use to serve in my kingdom’s raider squad. The quick draw attack that I was most skilled at was ‘Requiem Lebanderole’. My comrades-in-arms renamed it in regards to my fighting technique.”

(Fig. 1, Brook explains his raider squad and move names. A banderole mind you is a long flag for BATTLE crusades. )

This sets up a few interesting facts. 1. Brook was in a raider squad, a kingdom’s group of marauders, as well as if not the same job as convoy leader. 

2. His techniques were unique to him, or at least specialized to a degree of having a nickname. 3. As expected, he seems to have been close to these men he commanded, adding another layer over Brook loosing the Rumbars.

Being in both a raider squad and being a convoy leader at one point, if not the same point, implies either Brook was simply versatile, acting in both in separate years or periods. Or, the most likely, that he was higher ranking than expected, making him a CO, or commanding officer. (Lieutenant Colonel is another equal rank for scale, making Brook just below a Major.) This makes him quite the important figure, especially for a kingdom that seems to value its military so much, so much so that a child of Brook’s age would already know about their style of fencing, as expressed already. Brook’s devil fruit is worth mentioning here, the revive-revive fruit not likely to be found by a crew like the Rumbars. It is spoken about as if he has always had it amongst the crew, being a fact of life. However, when did he get that fruit and why? I propose where it would be useful; in combat. If your military convoy leader, your best swordsman could be shot and come right back to protect the king, would he not be utterly invaluable? You would never let him leave… But he DID leave. It’s not said why, however we have some extra tidbits of information that may tell us why, and that ALSO may tell us the answer to what kingdom he means.

( Fig. 2. Brook states his leaving of the military for unknown reasoning, the word certain being used in an odd way, establishing his bounty.) This bounty mind you all is in fact, using inflation method, 297,000,000 berries. That is a MASSIVE bounty for just a pirate. Perhaps a certain blond stole a treasure a kingdom could not replace; their convoy leader. Lets rewind for a moment and cover something that may be seen as off topic however I will come right back to the subject at hand; Calico Yorki. Yorki is an odd bird, pirate wise. He makes his crew read his bounties and information, is never shown to play an instrument/sing but makes his crew preform/they all do, and makes Brook make him dinner. (Steak, and Brook continues to be able to make it as confirmed by an SBS.) What is oddest yet, other than his large crew and shirtless habits, is his nature. A man that set to sea to play music for “orphans and crying children” as stated by himself; a crew made for “any men who love music.” Now, I could be reading into this too hard, however from his speech patterns, to this apparent need for a large family, it seems that singing to orphans may be a very personal goal. An orphan turned pirate perhaps, with lofty dreams and a heart of gold, it reads to me that Yorki may have been just that. Knowing this, orphan or not, we now can compare these facts to Brook’s life up until their meeting. A child who probably grew up being taught to fight, being around access to education, expenses and the kingdom’s training. Why would a man like Brook ever join a man like Yorki, and if it’s only music, would that not make Brook a deserter? I do not think that is the case. I will now bring forward some interesting evidence regarding Brook’s kingdom and WHY he would leave. Germa 66. During Zou to Whole Cake, a few mentions of Germa are made with Brook around, garnering interesting reactions indeed.

( Fig. 3. Brook listens but chooses not to add anything utter than silence, his music pausing as well.) This silence could be take as simple ignorance, however Brook later admits he knows of the kingdom, in fact, he knows a lot. A lot more than anyone else did, Reiju admitting interest in his knowledge and once again, Brook brushes it off.

(Fig 4, 5, Brook speaks about Germa 66.) He seems to underplay or simply not elaborate a LOT on his kingdom, as if something happened. Perhaps joining Yorki was not out of simple cowardice or need to be free, (which again if he did would both reflect poorly upon his entire character and not be in character for him what so ever,) but in fact, out of necessity. It could have been Germa 66, it could have been some other grouping, however I believe this will come to be something important. The kingdom possibilities are interesting as well, and I will list the following LIKELY possibilities. (Other options are known to not be military, like Ohara, or literally places like Thriller Bark itself.) - Toroa - God Valley - Illsia Kingdom - Soja Kingdom The most likely candidates, because again, it is labeled as certain kingdom (Fig 2.) is Toroa or Soja, however I will personally lean into Toroa. This is because of a man by the named of Byron.

(Fig 6. Byron and his information.) His nose and face shape vaguely resemble Brook, however honestly that is a stretch. What is NOT however is his familiar attire, family line and the placement of his kingdom. This could easily be Brook’s home, however again, this is just speculation. Brook very well could belong to God’s Valley, or the same kingdom as Issoh, fleeing because of something he did not agree with or literally could not stand any longer. But, that falls under possibility, not fact. This concludes the facts section, now comes the final question; What does it mean for the story? And, honestly, that can be debated. What Oda has done is plant odd seeds of information about the man, similar to Sanji and his ties to Vinsmoke, that have not been addressed nor talked about in full, or so I’ve found sufficiently. These seeds MAY bloom into what I hope will be a tie into some huge reveal, perhaps aid from a past member of his convoy or kingdom, or perhaps this will only spark conflict. Perhaps it will be minute, Brook being able to aid due to his knowledge, the man already in Thriller Bark showing his prowess by being able to command the strawhats into defeating zombies via salt and tactic. In any case, we can only hope these things mean anything, tied into some huge story that could explain why a man like him would quit for a redneck like Yorki, other than perhaps love, and what kingdom would let a man like him go willingly.

Updates:

- Confirmation that he’s educated! Perhaps in military or just as a whole, but confirmation nonetheless!

- I realize the reason he’s so confident with Big Mom isn’t just guts; he’s fought for royalty before. He’s just back in the fucking building again /j

- Sabaody behaviors, a convoy leader

CHECK REBLOG FOR PART TWO!!

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If You Only Knew Pt. 2

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Part 1

Tags: Soldier Boy/Female Reader, tooth rotting fluff, pining, emotions (oh no), smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v)

Title from I Can See You by Taylor Swift.

Summary/Warnings: Request from an anon! Ben is experiencing feelings. Real feelings. For a woman. But his reputation his proceeds him, so trying to win her over is taking a while. Once he gets a chance, he simply fucking refuses to blow it.

Author's Note: Nothing better than making a man be down bad.

Word Count: 8.5k

He’d pulled out the fucking stops. Ben didn’t even know what the fucking stops were, but he’d pulled them out. He was going to make every goddamn romance in history look fucking pathetic. She was going to swoon and fall into his arms like a movie, and he’d kiss Her like the hero he was, and then he’d have Her forever.

Just Her. All for him. 

If Ben did this right—and he would, because he was a goddamn gentleman and not a fucking pussy asshole who would fail the first woman who’d managed to make his heart move—he’d get to have Her forever. He’d have one fucking person he didn’t need to prance around like a monkey for, who he could walk home to, smile at, and fucking mean it. One person he actually liked, who didn’t want to see him do a trick or say the right thing, who just wanted him. Who spoke to him without fear, but still with reverence, because Ben would make Her fall for him so fucking hard, she’d finally feel all these stupid goddamn emotions he’d been plagued with over the last year. 

Ben would do whatever the hell he needed to for Her feel this. This strange fucking pull to be near Her all the goddamn time, and serve her, and talk to her. He’d throw everything he had into showing Her that he felt it—more than he’d ever felt fucking anything—and that if She could feel it too, he’d never allow her to stop feeling it. He’d fucking worship Her. He’d be whatever She needed him to be. 

And She just seemed to want Ben to be Ben. 

Which made him fall harder. 

And made him all the more resolved to romance the fucking Christ out of Her. 

He was picking Her up. Standing outside Her apartment with a bouquet of flowers like some goddamn idiot. Shifting on his feet as he waited for Her, because her roommates said she was still getting ready, and Ben wasn’t allowed inside. 

Her roommates didn’t really seem to like him. Ben didn’t really fucking care what they thought. They weren’t Her, and she was the only one who fucking mattered right now. Maybe ever.

Christ on a cross, that would be nice. If She got to be the only thing that mattered to Ben. If Ben got to be the only thing that mattered to Her.

He should knock on the door again, because it could not take that fucking long to get ready for a date. Ben had done fucking everything—suit, shaving, shoes, cologne—and that had taken him five goddamn minutes. Maybe those fucking bitches were trying to talk Her out of this. Trying to tell Her that Ben wasn’t serious about her, and she shouldn’t waste Her time with him.

She needed to waste Her time with him. Ben was here to do fucking everything with Her, and that included wasting time. Together. If he had it his way, they’d waste time all fucking night, and then keep wasting it for another million years.

He needed to break that fucking door down. He’d fix it after, too, for Her. He’d do fucking anything for Her, and if she was having doubts, he needed to kill them-

The door swung open only a second before his fist went flying, and Ben felt like he’d gotten punched.

She was flawless. Fucking gorgeous, designed by goddamn heaven and sent to Earth like some star that never burned out. Ben had never seen anything like Her, in front of him and smiling. Perfectly colored lips and styled hair and sinful body, more beautiful every second because She was being beautiful for Ben. She always looked like a fucking incarnation of Ben’s fantasies and dreams—no matter what She wore or how she did her makeup—and he’d seen Her look like this a million times for charity galas, but it had never been for Ben.

She’d chosen that dress for him. She’d done Her hair because they were going out. She picked a lipstick she wanted Ben to see.

And if Ben did this fucking right—did this like She deserved—he could have that color staining his cock by the end of the night. 

“Hi.” She whispered, giving him a sweet smile, and Ben was going to fucking explode. “I’m sorry about my roommates. They’re protective.”

“Good.” He grunted, glaring over Her head. “You deserve to be protected. But they don’t have to fucking protect you from me!”

She raised Her brows, even as a faint, pretty flush crept over her face. “I don’t think that’s going to convince them, Ben.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He muttered, moving his gaze back to Her. Christ, She was too goddamn beautiful. It was trapping him in a loop. “You look fucking hot.”

“Thank you. You, um, you too.” 

Her voice sounded breathy, and She was looking at Ben like she wanted to jump on him. He needed to keep that look on Her face for the rest of goddamn time.

The stops. Ben needed to pull out the fucking stops.

“These are for you.” He shoved the flowers into Her hands, scanning over Her pretty features to check that they had the intended effect. They seemed to. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open, and Ben could hear her heart do a little stumble in Her chest, so he was pretty damn sure they’d worked.

“Ben-“

“There’s paper in my car, too.” Ben jumped in, because She needed to know about everything before She formed an opinion. “And a fuck ton of pencils.”

She blinked at him. “Why?”

“You said you needed more paper and pencils.”

“I said-“ She swallowed, Her body leaning a little closer to his. That seemed good. “I said I needed more paper and pencils, so you bought me more paper and pencils?”

Ben frowned. He was pretty he’d made that damn clear. “What the fuck else was I supposed to do.”

“Nothing.” She smiled at Ben. The soft smile. He’d fucking nailed it. “Thank you, Ben.”

He grunted, offering Her his arm. “Are you ready.”

She nodded, disappearing back into Her apartment for only a second to put the flowers in a vase before returning, fucking smiling at him again, and letting Ben lead Her out of her shitty apartment building to his car. She looked fucking right in his car. The seat molded perfectly around Her, she was beautiful at Ben’s side, and this was where She belonged. Where Ben could touch Her—his hand curled into a fist in an effort to not touch Her, not yet—and she could be comfortable. In luxury. 

She deserved luxury more than fucking pussy Ben knew. More than the assholes who already had it, more than the brown-nosing dick-riders who chased it at Vought. Ben could fucking give it Her. She didn’t even have to ask, and he’d move the world onto a platter at Her feet. Because She was real, and beautiful, and so fucking sweet Ben got a little fucking high on it when She spoke. When She told him about all her students in the car, and giggled at his jokes. When She smiled at him in the golden light of the road, took his hand out of the car with sparkling eyes, and leaned into his touch as he guided Her into the empty restaurant.

He could get used to this. To the look of wide, blatant awe on Her face as they were led to their table—it was a nice fucking restaurant, and Ben had picked it out specifically for Her, so that was another damn good sign—and the way that whenever their eyes met, she’d give him that soft smile again.

“Ben.” She whispered as they sat down. “Where are all the other people?”

He shrugged, giving the waiter a curt nod as he poured the water and left them alone. “Not fucking here, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I know that. Why aren’t they here?”

“Probably because I rented the place.”

She sat a little taller, and Her expression open as her lips parted and brow furrowed. 

“What’s-“

“The whole restaurant?” Her voice was barely a breath, and Ben frowned. 

“Obviously,” He grunted, trying to work out why the fuck this was freaking Her out. “Do you not like it?”

“Not at all, it’s just-“ She pulled her lower lip between Her teeth, fingers fidgeting with her napkin. “You didn’t have to do that. For me.”

Ben scowled. “Of course I fucking had to-“

“Ben-“

“Sweetheart, if I didn’t, people would be gawking at us all damn night. Sticking their fucking noses in your business, crawling up your taint like they’re always up mine.” Ben leaned forward, holding Her wide gaze. She needed to know he was serious. That She was damn worth this, and Ben would keep Her safe. Keep Her at peace, away from the fucking vultures and monsters, at Vought and in the media. “This is for us, babygirl. I’m not going let any fucking pussy bother you, let anyone look at you who you don’t want to. And nobody,” he shot Her a wink. “Is going to crawl up your taint but me.”

She giggled, Her body relaxing, and Ben counted that as another fucking victory. “That’s gross, Ben.”

“It’s true.” He shrugged, bracing his forearms on the table. “Until you say the word, nobody’s going to know fucking shit about us.”

“The waiters will know.” She pointed out, even as the pretty flush returned. “About… us.”

Christ, the word us had never sounded so fucking good. Ben never wanted to hear anyone but Her say it again. He never wanted it to mean anyone but them. Her and Ben. Us. Something he could defend and protect and keep just for them, together.

He chuckled. “The waiters will keep their pussy fucking mouths shut, if they know what’s good for them.”

She rolled Her eyes, but her smile remained. “You’d murder a waiter for me?”

She was joking. Ben would murder a waiter for Her, if she asked—She never would, but if she did, she wouldn’t even have to say please—but She was joking, so he just laughed.

“For you, I’d kill the damn president.”

Another fucking giggle escaped her. Ben wanted to bottle that sound and shoot it into his blood like goddamn heroine. “That’s not very American of you, Soldier-“

“Don’t fucking say it.” He raised an accusing finger at Her, even as a smile tugged at his mouth. “It’s Ben to you, sweetheart.”

She hummed, raising Her brows slightly. “Is it Ben for all the other girls, too?” 

“Wouldn’t know.” He leaned forward with a smirk, lowering his voice to the rumble that always seemed to make that slack, wanting expression pop up. “There aren’t any other girls.”

“Oh.” She whispered, and there it was. Ben had Her. So fucking close. “No girls?”

“No girls,” Ben’s voice was firm as he said Her name, because he’d had countless other women in his bed but none of them had been his. None of them had been even fucking close to what She was, what Ben hoped she could be to him. “I was damn serious, sweetheart. I haven’t fucked another woman in a year.”

She swallowed. “For me?”

He nodded, watching Her carefully, and she gave him a soft, slightly nervous smile.

“No sex?” She raised Her brows. “You must have a lot a free time now, huh?”

Ben laughed. It was loud and rolling through his chest, breaking the static silence of the restaurant because Christ, he needed to have Her. 

“Smart fucking mouth, babygirl.” He smirked, leaning forward. “Not wrong, either. You’re going to get a fucking master.”

He winked, and there was a soft hitch in Her breath.

“I’m getting a master?”

“I haven’t be keeping it in my pants for fun,” Ben drawled Her name, and he could get addicted to that flush and small gasp. “We’re going to fill up that free time together.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

She was gaping at Ben—practically fucking drooling—and if he grabbed Her face, he could kiss her. Here. Now. Blow Her fucking mind and fill that free time right here on the damn table. Fill Her on the damn table-

“What have you been using the free time for?” She asked. “While you’ve been, um, keeping it in your pants.”

He shrugged. He’d waited a year. He could wait a few more hours to fuck Her stupid. “Watched TV. Smoked.” He tilted his head at Her. “What do you use your free time for.”

“I, um, I don’t really have free time,” She mumbled, and Ben frowned. He’d have to fix that.

“What would you do?” He pushed, ready to mentally mark whatever he’d need to keep around for Her, once she had that time. “If you had the time?”

“Maybe a hobby?” She pulled her lips between her teeth, and if She kept doing that, they wouldn’t make it to actual dinner. “I could make art. Or write. Or bake.” She tilted Her head. “I think I just like making things. Seeing that I did something, and it was me. I did it.”

Ben nodded. He could get paint. And more fucking paper and pencils. And whatever the hell people used to bake. He didn’t understand Her making something shit, but Christ, he liked Her for feeling it and saying it. She was so fucking caring and sweet, he was going to lose his damn mind. “That why you teach?”

“Yeah, actually. I think it is.” She gave him an odd look. “What about you? What would you do as a hobby?”

Ben opened his mouth, and She shook her head.

“Don’t say drugs. Or me.”

He scoffed, and fuck, She looked hot when she was smug. “Fuck off, Sweetheart-“

“Was I wrong?”

“No.” He grumbled. “But I don’t fucking do hobbies.”

She snorted. “Everyone does hobbies, Ben. You just haven’t found one you like.”

Ben rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning. He didn’t know how the fuck She did that to his face. “What, you think I’m going to start fucking knitting, like some damn pussy grandma-“

“You could collect something,” She offered, and Ben might fucking die if She kept sounding so sincere. Like She actually fucking cared that he found something to enjoy. “Or do a sport-“

He snorted. “I don’t fucking do sports. No one can keep up with me, it’s not fucking fun.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She swallowed, and Ben didn’t miss how She glanced at his arms, and chest, and hands. How that expression like She wanted to jump on him was back. “How about woodworking?”

Ben raised his brows. “Woodworking.”

She hummed, nodding with a small, teasing smile. “It’s a very masculine hobby, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s probably that, or coaching little league.”

Ben chuckled, but his brain started to spin into images of coaching little league for their kids. And he’d be more fucking thrown by that image if similar ones didn’t flash through his brain all the damn time. If he didn’t constantly fucking imagine a real life with Her. If he didn’t think about it all the goddamn time, because She was it. Ben wanted all of Her, and he’d be damned if he didn’t give Her his own all once he had her-

Right before Ben could damn it, throw himself over the table at Her, and prove to her that he was damn serious about his with his mouth and hands and cock—that he’d never fantasize about fucking Little League for any other woman—the waiter interrupted them to get their orders.

Ben ordered first, and She just took what he was having. She didn’t even glance at the damn menu.

“You know,” he drawled Her name, raising his brows. “I just fucking eat whatever the hell people put in front of me. That food might be fucking shit.”

She didn’t laugh like he’d expected. She just gave him an odd, unreadable look, and moved on. It wasn’t until the end of the night, when the food was gone and Ben felt fucking high on Her laugher and beauty, that it was mentioned again. When he asked if the food was worth the risk, and that look came back, this time with a question that threw Ben right off his goddamn axis. 

“What’s it like?”

He frowned. “What’s what-“

“Having your life be a brand? Designed by Vought?”

Ben’s blinked. If it wasn’t Her asking, he would’ve stormed off with a roar. But that wasn’t some fucking gotcha question, meant to make his head spin and test his temper. She just wanted to know, so she could know Ben. And if that was all She was asking for, fuck him if he wouldn’t give it to Her.

“My job is the brand.” He shrugged. “And Vought is full of fucking pussies, but they do their damn jobs, I do mine, and we all fucking go home. That’s all it is.”

The Vought assholes went home to families, and Ben went home to cold, empty riches, but that wasn’t the point. Ben did his job, and he was fucking good at it, and the brand—Soldier Boy—was the fucking job. Simple as that.

“Do you like it?” 

Her voice was still fucking soft. She was going to goddamn kill him, if She kept fucking caring. If She kept making Ben think about how he fucking loathed it. It was filled with gold and wealth and fucking nothing. All the light was just cameras flashing. All the warmth only stayed on his skin, never sinking into his muscles and organs. All his co-workers were fucking pussy idiots. And that had always been enough. It had always been all he wanted.

Until it wasn’t.

Ben leaned forward, holding Her wide, open gaze. “I like that it got me to you.” He muttered, and that was the goddamn truth. “And you’ve fucking got me, babygirl. I meant it, there wasn’t a damn lady before you. Not like this. And I’ll keep fucking saying that until you get it. Solider Boy might be the brand, might be the job, but I’ll keep it in my pants for another damn year and pick up fucking woodworking if I get you. Understood?”

There was a long moment of silence as She scanned over his face—looking for whatever She needed to find—and Ben felt an itch on his skin and a prickle over his heart. It might be fucking nerves.

He didn’t care for it.

“Understood.” She whispered, and the nerves vanished into some sort of euphoria as She smiled at him. “Do you, um, you want to go? Back to my place?”

Ben’s grin was unrestrained and probably looked a little feral, but thank fucking Christ. He had Her. He didn’t have to keep it in his pants, because he had Her.

And when he stood up, picking Her up into his arms with a squeal and carrying Her out of the restaurant, he made a silent vow.

He wouldn’t give Her a single goddamn reason to ever leave.

And he’d start proving why She should stay right fucking now.

—————————

Ben’s really strong. And you’d known that—it was the whole Soldier Boy brand—but that didn’t stop you from being shocked by how that strength feels wrapped around you. Pressed right up against your body, arms flexing and muscles shifting under his shirt, his chest and shoulders like a rock, but still somehow comfortable and warm.

You’d like to stay here, in Ben’s arms and against his body, for maybe the rest of your life. It feels safe, but not like a cage. Like a blanket or shield around you, promising that harm wouldn’t even dare to look at you, because only a fool would try to attack something that belongs to Ben.

Fuck.

You don’t belong to Ben. Not in the way you’d want to mean it, where it’s your heart out of your chest and into his hands, and you never have to worry about it again. Never have to worry about anything again. 

It doesn’t help that it feels like you could belong to him. Like if you asked, he would keep you here. Maybe he’d carry you everywhere. Maybe he’d offer his heart back.

He won’t. You can hear his heart pounding, when you turn your head and press your ear to his skin. It’s loud and powerful, and you’d really like for it to move in a rhythm with yours. But you don’t know if you could keep up, and you’re terrified to learn that he wouldn’t slow down.

But your lips graze his neck when you breathe, and you could swear he shudders. That his grip on you tightens, and a low grunt escapes his throat that has nothing to do with walking to the car.

You’re too far gone. This is exactly what you’d been trying to avoid, trying to dodge and weave around with giggles and eye rolls. Belonging to Ben. Making your dumb little heart really believe that he’d care about you in a way that he’d fight for. Falling into him until he’s less taking you, and more being offered to have you. However he’d like. 

And God, if he asks to have you tonight, you’ll say yes. All your previous rules will fly out the window. Rules about waiting a certain number of dates, kissing first before going right into more, or ensuring that—when the sun rises the next morning—you won’t be alone in bed. Rules that would be pointless, because this is Ben and you’ve been dreaming about touching him for a year. He can never know you’ve lost sleep to it. To feeling heat between your legs at just the thought of him, to covering your face with a pillow because just the idea of him was enough to make you scream and moan and wake your roommates up.

Shit. Your roommates. 

You’re going to have to figure out how to justify to them that you will be seeing Ben again, because you hadn’t stopped feeling dizzy and drunk on him for the whole night, and now you’re gone—the last piece of your resistance to his advances gone, your will to not fall in love completely dissolved—and you won’t be coming back until Ben breaks you in half.

That if Ben doesn’t break you—if he chooses to keep you, just you, because for reasons you don’t understand he seems to only want you—but holds you close and stretches tonight into sixty years, you’ll never even bother to try and return.

You don’t know if he’ll want to keep you. He’s placing you in the passenger’s seat with careful movements, but brushing hair from your face with an unreadable expression and restrained hands. He kisses your brow before drawing back up, and he glances at your lips, but he doesn’t touch them. He doesn’t say a word, only closing the door behind him and walking around the hood of the car.

When he drops in the driver’s seat, his hands rest on the wheel, and he stares ahead with a frown. He doesn’t grab the keys from his pocket. He doesn’t speak, or look at you, or move. 

There’s a long and horrible moment when you think he’s done with you. Where everything tastes like ash and dust, and you can feel your body deflating and crumbling. Of course he wouldn’t want you. You’re normal and boring and wouldn’t look right on his arm. You’d fit there—you know you would, because you’d slotted right into him all night like you were meant to be there, and now that will haunt you for the rest of your life—but you wouldn’t dazzle and sparkle and flash. You aren’t a good accessory. You’d cleaned up best you could for this, but your clothing was cheap, your lipstick cheaper, and your hair styled by your own hands. Hands with little bumps on the fingers from writing, that you did your best to keep soft but also ended up dry, because your apartment’s humidifier was broken, and it’s the middle of winter.

You’re nothing horrible. Nothing worse than anyone else. But also normal. So painfully average, just another face that walked on the street. 

Ben should be with someone bright. Someone blinding who wore lipstick that cost as much as that fancy dinner, and clothing that could probably out-sell this car. Someone who had their hair styled by a team, because they were American royalty like Ben was.

Girls like you don’t get to linger in divinity. They don’t get more than a night.

And you might not even get a night. Ben isn’t moving or talking or teasing about how he’s going to touch you, so he might not want to. He might have been trying you on, and now he’s ready to throw you out because he’d realized you didn’t look as good on him as he’d thought you would-

“We’re going to my place.” He grunts, and you blink at him.

“Your place?”

He nods, and finally looks at you. He’s so handsome. You’ve never seen anyone have a face like that. You’d been being dramatic and lovelorn before, thinking of him as divinity, but there couldn’t possibly be another reason for him looking like that.

Untouchable.

Reaching out to touch you.

Ben’s hand cups your face, keeping your gaze trapped on his, and his words are a low rumble that rip through your body like a wildfire. Your skin and heart are ablaze, and you’re completely ruined, and he’s only talking.

“I’m going to touch you, babygirl.” He mutters, and you think you whine. “Going to fucking ruin you.”

This isn’t fair. He looks like he’s about to ask you a question, and you’ll never be able to give an answer that isn’t a breathless plea.

“Ben-“

“But,” he pushes on, smirking as your breathing start to get ragged. “I’m going to have you screaming my name all fucking night, and I’m not interested in having an audience. I fucking love you, but your apartment is goddamn fucking. Dramatic roommates who won’t let me fuck you like you deserve, too goddamn small, and not nearly fucking good enough for you. So come back to my place.”

That’s probably supposed to be a question. Ben’s tone didn’t sound like he was asking—more like ordering, or telling you what was going to happen—but he’s also not starting to car or letting go of your face, so you think he’s waiting for an answer.

It takes a moment, because you’re trapped in his voice, still echoing in your head. 

I fucking love you.

You don’t know if he’s aware he said that. If he is, it doesn’t seem as if he’s about to elaborate.

But he did say it. And he’s not taking it back.

You’re kind of done with testing the waters. With holding yourself back from what you want for the sake of your sanity. 

Sanity that’s already long gone anyway. Razed and wrecked and shaped into the same sound of Ben saying I fucking love you, all while touch you and looking at you and speaking to you, and you alone.

“Okay,” you whisper, and you can’t really imagine saying anything else.

Ben nods, his hand moves to your thigh, and you can feel something changing inside of you. His touch is so measured—so carefully controlled with a big, rough hand that kneads mindlessly at your skin—and it’s igniting your whole body up in a way you’ve never felt. It’s like lighting in your blood and water on your skin, soothing and electric and so completely consuming. 

He really is consuming. You’ve never met anyone whose very presence devours your every thought and nerve until you’re glowing from inside. Even if you weren’t being branded by his touch on your body, weren’t drowning in his cologne, you’d still only be thinking about Ben. He’d said you looked hot, and under his cannon-like attention—loud and powerful and demanding—you’d really felt like you were. He’d said there were no other girls, and you believed him because you could feel the words over your bones. He’d said he’d kill the president for you, and it had oddly been the most romantic thing any had ever told you.

Ben’s life was Solider Boy. Soldier Boy’s brand was America. 

He didn’t want to be Solider Boy with you. He didn’t care about Soldier Boy for you. 

And you’d never tell him to kill the president, but if you do get to ask for anything—just one thing for Ben to give you, and only you, because you asked for it—it would be that he keeps doing that. Keeps being consuming. Keeps looking at you like you’re all the stars in the sky, when you’re the one getting lost.

Because you’re so lost. You’d promised yourself you’d be careful, but now you’re lost in Ben, and you’d never chose to be anywhere else. Not when his hand on your thigh is a promise of being a master and filling free time. You’d love to waste free time with him. You’d love to get more and more lost in this odd sense of given security—Ben is here, and he’s built like a tank that’s designed to keep you from horror—for the rest of your life.

And you’d think that was dramatic, if Ben didn’t keep looking at you like that. Like you’re a rare treasure he’d found buried underground, and he’s going to make you shine.

You’re already shining. Just that look—full of promises and stoic, firm care–makes you sit a little taller in your seat, warmth sparking and pooling in your gut like an oil meeting a match.

The explosion is going to wreck you. 

You’re more than ready for it.

Ben parks outside of a shocking normal apartment complex, helps you out of the car, and half covers your body with his—his face bent down and hidden, you barely a shadow below him—before moving you inside. 

This is a normal building. You’re awestruck, how average this place is. You’ve heard about Ben’s house, but it’s further upstate. You’ve been to one of his apartments for a Vought party—and ended up mostly curled near him, but not against him, on a couch—but that was across the city. And this place didn’t have the marble floors and doorman and oil paintings. It was all stained brown carpet and small mailboxes, walking up concrete stairs and passing worn welcome mats.

“Ben?” You lean back to look at him, and he seems vigilant. Watching every corner you turn and tensing at every creek of the building.

He grunts, his eyes falling to yours—something that’s always rough behind them not softening, but becoming honed, and aimed all at you—and you take it as a cue to continue. 

“Where are we?”

Ben lets out a long, heavy breath, stopping in front of another, boring, generic door. “My apartment.”

“Oh.” You look around the hall, then back to Ben. He’s started to fidget with the keys. You didn’t hear him wrong. 

You’re still incredibly confused, right up until Ben pushes the door open.

This is more what you expected. Plush sofas and polished chairs, a glass table and expensive looking art on the walls. It’s a little different that his other apartment—there seems to be more personal things scattered across the room, bits of Ben left out on the side table and shelves—but not at all in line with the rest of this building.

And Ben must see all your questions on your face, because he leans down to whisper in your ear, his arms wrapped around your stomach and light stubble brushing on your skin. 

“Bought this place off the books.” He starts to guide you further inside, his hands rubbing slow, mind-numbing circles on your hips. “Place for myself, when I don’t want anyone intruding or interfering with my shit.”

You swallow. “Does anyone else know-“

“Just me.” He mutters, starting to kiss a very distracting line up your throat. “Not one damn pussy at Vought knows this place exists. Landlord thinks I’m a reclusive artist or some shit. Like I said, sweetheart. My place.”

Ben’s place. Just his place. For his shit. That he doesn’t want intruded on. 

It takes you longer than you’d like to piece it all together. In your defense, you’re a little overwhelmed—in all your wildest fantasies about Ben looking at you and meaning it, you still hadn’t manage to imagine this—and Ben’s not really helping your thought process at all. One hand has moved down to pull and squeeze your upper thigh, the other is still keeping you pinned to his chest, and his mouth has started to wander. Grow bolder. Wet, sloppy kisses over your collarbone and along your jaw, sucking a small bruise behind your ear and making you a little dizzy. 

But you slot it all into place.

And there’s not a thing in the universe that could save you now. Fuck, if anyone tried, you’d probably punch them.

“You’re serious about me.” You mumble, and Ben hums, the sound echoing around your head like a fucked up, love drunk lullaby.

“About fucking time you got it.” He mutters, his hands sliding up to grip your throat. It’s a light touch, barely any pressure at all, but Ben doesn’t need to be firm. He tilts your head slightly back, and you go all the way. Leaning on his shoulder, holding his darkened gaze with your own, slightly dazed one, smiling at him like an idiot.

You can be an idiot for this. For Ben, you’ll be a fucking fool, because you can be. There’s nothing else to do here. Nothing to work for. He’s won. You’re his. 

All that’s left to do fall down. 

Ben smirks at you, that hand on your thigh starting to drift further and further between your legs, and you don’t think he’s going to make this easy on you.

“Do you know how much I’ve fucking dreamt about this?” Ben drawls, his lips brushing over the corner of your mouth. It’s light, and taunting, and in perfect time with his fingers. Playing with the hem of your panties, knuckles occasionally bumping on your clit and making your knees weak, all while he continues talking. “I’ve spent fucking months working out exactly how I want to fuck you, babygirl. Thought about how fucking good you’d feel, wrapped around my cock, how pretty you’d sound screaming my name, how fucking beautiful you’d look all fucked out and wrecked under me, or against me, or fucking riding me. But nothing,” Ben nips at your ear, and you think you squeak. “Could’ve gotten me ready for this. Look so fucking gorgeous just here. Hardly ever touched you yet and you look like a dream.”

You’re going to lose your fucking mind. Ben’s hand has moved to cup you over your underwear, and you can’t stop yourself from grinding shamelessly onto him.

“Christ, sweetheart, already fucking soaked just from dinner.” Ben looks awestruck, his lips parted and breath hot on your skin. It just makes you more desperate. “You like it when I talk dirty? Like it when I tell you how much I fucking want you? How much I need you?”

You moan, nodding like a bobble-head, and he chuckles.

“Tell me what you want,” Ben says your name, pressing his thumb over your clothed clit, and you definitely squeaked that time. 

“You, want you-“

“How do you want me. Get specific, babygirl, want to hear-“

“I want you with me,” you gasp, rolling your hips in search of any friction at all, whining when his grip on you tightens. “Want to have you Ben, fuck- Want all of you-“

You might have ascended. Ben cuts you off with a strangling, heavy, starved kiss, and if it wasn’t the most carnal thing you’d ever experienced you’d have thought it was holy. It’s invasive and rough—his tongue down your throat and his teeth nipping at your lower lip, swallowing your moan when he rips off you panties and shoves one, broad finger into your cunt—but there’s something softer behind it. His hand stays on your neck, but only to tip you further back and grant him more access, never tightening enough for you to really feel it. Your legs give out as he starts to finger-fuck you at a brutal, unforgiving pace, but he also keeps you upright and steady. 

Ben pulls you apart on just his hand—palm rolling on your clit, fingers taunting and teasing on the deepest, most sensitive place inside of you—and he never breaks the kiss. You reach behind your body, wrapping an arm around his neck and running your fingers through his hair, and when you tug it, he groans. The sound moves through your whole body, fueling every bit of your arousal, melting you further into Ben’s body as he picks up his speed. He keeps a rough pace and firm pattern, drags your right up to the edge until you’re writhing against him and scratching hopelessly at his arm in a slight plea for more. You need more, you’re already inhaling him and filled with him but it’s not enough. 

When he finally crooks his fingers inside of you, everything goes white. It’s only Ben sucking on your upper lip and pumping his fingers through your orgasm, only his pounding heartbeat near your ear and ragged breath over your face.

He’s hard. Pressing right up against your ass, and hard, and big. He’s fucking huge. 

You need him. You need him now. 

“Ben,” you tug on his hair again—your voice breathy and weak as your head spins—and he hums against your skin, that sinful fucking mouth sucking small marks along your jaw. “More. Need more, please-“

“Patience,” he mutters your name, and you moan, shaking your head. “I’ve been waiting too fucking long to take this slow. Got fucking months to make up for. You’re not going to be able to walk for a goddamn year when I’m done with you, babygirl, so calm the fuck down, and take what I give you. Got it?”

You nod a little stupidly, and Ben draws back from your neck with a smirk, teasing along your pussy with those same, sinful fingers before pulling them away and—before you can even whine from the loss of him—bringing them to his mouth. Licking your arousal off his skin, never breaking your gaze.

You can’t be patient. It’s an impossible thing to ask, when he’s toying with you like this. When he looks like that—so fucking satisfied from the taste of you and cocky when you moan from only the sight of him—and wraps his arm back around your waist, keeping you steady as he kisses you again. It should be illegal to be this good a kisser. It’s like a drug right into your bloodstream, making everything just pleasure and Ben. He tastes like wine and smoke and you. That’s you on his tongue.

You’re going to fly out of your skin. 

“Please.” You gasp, tugging on his hair again until that same groan from before rumbles in his chest. “Ben, please-“

Ben squeezes your throat once before dragging it away, prying your hand off his head and kissing your knuckles with a softness that might be worse than the animalistic lust. It’s just a small, tiny second of care—silent, real affection—but you’re still going to go mad from it.

“You want my cock, babygirl?” He asks the question with the most smug grin you’ve ever seen. Like he knows there’s not a world where you’ll say anything but yes. “Want me to fuck you nice and dumb, take good fucking care of my girl?”

His girl. You’ve put it together that he really somehow means that, but it doesn’t change how the words are electric in your body. Your legs almost give out just from the sound of Ben’s deep voice saying them.

He tightens his grip around you, grabbing your chin and tilting your head backward. “Not a mind-reader, sweetheart, give me some fucking words-“

“Yes-“

The answer is barely out of your mouth when Ben hauls you off the ground and starts to move, walking into the bedroom and dropping you onto his mattress. This is Ben’s mattress. He’s slept on it before, and the sheets smell like him and have touched his bare skin.

You’re going to touch his bare skin. He’s ripping clothing off like it’s paper as you crawl backwards, and you barely have time to remove your dress—let alone take him in—before he’s prowling over you, his eyes gleaming and sparkling in a way that makes you start to drool.

He’s completely naked. You want to see him, see all that impossible, powerful glory that’s about to wrap around you, but you don’t get the chance before Ben starts to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses up your legs and your vision blurs with pleasure. He’s so good at this, and you’re not at all surprised, but it still makes every fantasy and wet dream you’ve had feel like a crude, faded sketch. The real thing is a work of art. You’d been joking when you’d called this his hobby, but he’s playing you like an instrument and molding you like clay. He finds his way between your legs, and stays there just long enough to work you into a frenzy. Broad licks up your pussy and flicks of his tongue over your clit, sucking the already burning nerve bundle into his mouth and letting his teeth graze against it until you’re grinding up into his face.

Then he’s moving on, leaving you dangling right on the edge and kissing over your stomach. Up your body until he drags you into a long, heavy kiss, silencing your every needy, high plea for release. He won’t let you have release. He’s kissing you far too passionately and firmly for you to do anything but melt further into him, but God you’re burning up from the inside and he won’t even let you move. He had dropped his waist to pin you down to the mattress, and you can feel him poking again your inner thigh, and fuck-

Ben rises up with a grin, and there’s the awestruck look again. He can’t keep looking at you like that. It’s going to kill you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” He mutters your name, and you were wrong. That’s going to kill you. How sincere and blunt his words are, like they’re pure fact and not at all subjective. “Never seen a goddamn thing like it.” He rolls his hips against you, and you whine. “Look like a fucking angel.”

You want to tell him that he looks better, or at least thank him, but all you can remember how to do is moan, squirming a little beneath him as he chuckles. 

“You got something you need, sweetheart?”

He rolls his hips again, and your eyes almost roll back in your head as you nod. 

Ben clicks his tongue, leaning back down to speak against your lips. “Need you to fucking say it, baby.”

“Fuck me.” You gasp, because you’re past dignity and dancing around things. “Fuck me, Ben, please, fuck me-“

You yelp as he rolls you over, hauling you up onto his lap and impaling you on his cock in one movement. And when he starts to move—grabbing your hips and guiding them in a smooth rhythm with his thrusts—you know he’s not going to stop proving you wrong. He cares, and this is higher and better than any heaven you could’ve—and had—imagined. This is what’s going to kill you.

Because you’ve thought about this far too often, imagined this exact moment countless times, but it’s still more than you know how to comprehend. Ben’s splitting you open and bumping against all the right places inside of you, the angle pushing him so deep into your cunt there’s not a second where you aren’t on fire. He keeps alternating between wild, demanding bites—hickeys on your throat and shoulders—and gentle, hot kisses on your lips that swallow your every soft moan and whine. Your arms wrap around his neck as your try to drag him impossibly closer, and he smirks, his hold on your hips tightening as he starts to drill up into you.

It’s brutal and sudden and rough—his skin slapping on yours and his gaze burning right into your body—and if Ben wasn’t holding you up, you would’ve collapsed. You might be saying his name, might be begging for more, but you can’t hear it over a fogging haze of Ben, talking so dirty you’re surprised his voice alone isn’t bring you to release.

“Look so fucking hot, bouncing on my cock, such pretty fucking tits, fucking tight and warm, goddamn soaked for me-“

“Fuck,” you try to grind down onto him, but he’s too strong. All you can do is kiss on his jaw and pray he’ll give you more. “Feels good, so good, please-“

“Who’s fucking you good?” He demands, nipping on your lower lip and guiding you in a circle on his dick, smirking as you whimper from the sensation. “Fucking scream it, sweetheart, tell the whole goddamn world who’s fucking you-“

“Ben!“ You almost scream, and you’d be embarrassed if it didn’t immediately earn you another long kiss and groan of your name against your skin.

“There you go,” he mutters, snaking one hand around your body to rub at your clit. “Good girl, feel so fucking good squeezing my cock, so fucking needy-“

“Ben,” Your brow drops to his, and your nails scratching at his neck and shoulder blades. “Please, wanna cum, please-“

He cuts you off with a searing, almost violent kiss, growling down your throat. “Since you asked so fucking pretty,” he jerks his hips up in a rough, blinding movement, pinching your clit at the same time. “Cum for me, babygirl.”

This orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. Springing in your gut and washing your body in a burning but comfortable heat, filling your vision with stars and wracking your body with a pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of feeling. This is better than heaven. This is Ben kissing you through your high and still dragging you higher, rubbing his thumb around your clit and palming at your breast as you scream into his mouth.

And you don’t come down. Ben doesn’t stop, and you’re not sure if this is just a million smaller orgasms exploding like fireworks in your body, or if he’s trapped you in an infinite state of bliss, but the orgasm doesn’t end.

And Ben’s not done with you. 

He’s getting rougher. He’s still hard inside of you, starting to throb and lose rhythm with his movements, and you barely have the mind to gasp or whimper when he rolls you back under him, pulls out of you for a brief second, and flips you around onto your stomach. There’s a brief, cold moment where he’s gone—still hard against your thighs but no longer caging you against him—and then he drags your ass into the air, pushes himself back into your dripping, oversensitive pussy, and starts to hammer into you with a pace you can only describe as feral. His balls slap on your clit as he hits somehow deeper inside of you, groaning behind you as you grind back into him, and you’re still cumming. You don’t now know how that’s possible. You didn’t know your body could do that. 

You don’t really know anything but Ben right now. Thrusts becoming short and uneven, draping himself back over you to kiss at your shoulder and throat and behind your ear, pinching and rolling a nipple between two rough fingers, and groaning right in your ear in a way that just keeps everything going. 

Ben grabs your chin right as his hips stutter, turning your head to roar your name against your mouth as he cums. It finally brings you down—when he’s spent inside of you and pinning you to the mattress in his warmth—and you like out a soft, happy sound of content when he kisses your swollen lips with a gentler, easier pressure. It seems like he’s kissing you just to kiss you. Touching you just to touch you.

Laying with you just to lay with you.

“Christ on a fucking cross,” he mutters in your ear, pressing another small kiss to your cheek. “You’re so fucking good, sweetheart. Never going to go a week without this pussy again, best thing I’ve ever fucking felt.”

You smile, craning your neck back to look at him, and you’ve barely started to move before Ben’s flipping you one last time, keeping you caged between his body and the mattress.

And he’s grinning at you. A powerful, wide grin that would look strange on his face if it didn’t feel so natural. You rarely see Ben really grin—all joy and teeth and something unbridled and almost pure—at all, his expression usually rough smirks and more taunting smiles, but this is just Ben, grinning at you. 

And he looks like a human. He’s sweaty, short hair sticking up at odd angles and eyes a little brighter from his own release, and you really think this could be it. That he could be a life you’d be happy to lead. 

Because Ben’s got you. Outside of how he’d just fucked you within an inch of paradise, he’s also pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, and a longer one to your lips, before moving away to grab a towel and clean the mess he left between your thighs. He’s bringing you water and tucking you right against his body, muttering that you should get some rest before round two, because there will be a round fucking two.

“Ben?” You mumble, and he grunts near your skin in a silent acknowledgment to continue. “What… um, I don’t know what you- what we-“

“We’re together.” He grunts, and you let out a long breath of relief. You hadn’t even had to say the stupid, embarrassing question aloud. “Nobody’s touch you but me, and not one single fucking lady is getting their hands on me but you.”

“Okay.” You hum, wiggling a little further into his hold. “Good.”

Ben chuckled. “Real fucking good, babygirl. You’re going to get spoiled fucking rotten.”

You smile, and you’ll fight that later. You don’t want to become only a doll on a shelf just because Ben’s got you. 

But you also think you have him. And that if you asked for the world he’d try and figure out a way to put it into your hands. That if you demanded he not be an asshole about you continuing to work, he’d grumble but relent.

And you can live with that. 

You can thrive with it.

End Note: Once again saying I really think Ben just needs a cool wife to obsesses over and be violent for and he'd chill out.

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[777heavengirl]

kitchen

remus lupin x reader one-shot ! warnings: my beta reader rated it 12/10 angst, do with that what you will. word count: 2,889 masterlist a/n: this is so sad. this is rlly just me partly reflecting my break up onto Remus i AM SO SORRY IN ADVANCE.

You stared at the side of Remus’s face as he talked with James. Your brother ever the animated man, waved his arms around and spoke excitedly, to which Remus could only muster small chuckles and low-toned responses. 

You knew he was tired. 

Work was tiring. 

The moon was tiring. 

His body was tired. 

Part of you was still left with a bitter aftertaste from his apathy. You pressed a kiss against his bicep.

Remus’s lips pressed into a thin line resembling a smile. You knew it meant he was itching to leave. But you didn’t move. You sat, and stared, at him, at James, at Lily. At nothing at all. You laughed when they did, and put your hand on his forearm as to remind yourself of the spark between you. To remind yourself that he was here, with you and that he loved you.

That you loved him too.

You wondered if he had always been this way. Had you just been too in love to notice the apathy? The way he seemed to not even try to reciprocate any energy? Were you just being too needy? 

Was James not bothered by his friend’s lack of emotion? 

You and Remus had too much history. You could not remember what life was like without being with him. It had been years. Years of running up and down behind your twin brother and his friends, years of hands intertwined with Remus’s, kisses first shared in the dark— Merlin forbid your brother found out at the time. You had been happy. For years. Even with the ups and downs and the mercurial nature of his moods. Maybe lunar is a better word for it.

The waning and waxing phases of the way he felt about the world. You thought that might be the hardest part of it all. 

The way he’d be enthusiastic about the future one week, talking about job postings that had piqued his interest, talking about a future. But other weeks, the dark side of the moon reared its ugly head. He’d be riddled with doubts and fears. Days and weeks were he simply wallowed, days where he haunted your room or your kitchen, for hours. He’d reluctantly go to his muggle job, the monotony of it all bringing his mood down even more.

Weeks like those it was hard. The talks of aspirations went up in a cloud of smoke and you were once again left with nothing.

 He always did say that even though he wasn't sure what he wanted to do, he was sure about you. That you were the one constant in his future. No matter what, it was you. It wasn’t as reassuring as he believed it to be.

You tried not to think about it.

You eventually bid goodbye to your brother and his darling wife. The picture of a perfect family, with a baby on the way, in a small flowering cottage. You itched to ask Remus if he ever wanted that. Did he ever think about it at all?

But, you loved him. That was all that mattered.

Besides, you had real history. Too many years invested. If it wasn’t with him, you were probably just going to end up alone.

You were in love with him for Godric’s sake. Maybe that was the reason you could never choose yourself. 

“Have you given what we talked about some thought?” your words were barely above a whisper, unsure, scared about what his answer could be. You could see him look around uncomfortably. Maybe you should’ve waited until you actually got home not walking through the streets. 

“Y-yeah, I did…” his hand gripped yours tighter as you walked, like you might slip from his fingers “I think I should maybe wait a few weeks…” his shoulders tensed when the sigh inevitably left your lips. “I’m sorry I know it isn't what you wanted to hear but- I don't know if the Ministry would even take me… I did see a new posting for an entry-level in the department of magical creatures maybe I could apply”

“Apply soon yeah”

He nodded silently and you kissed his shoulder to wordlessly tell him thank you, as you walked home from James and Lily’s. Maybe he’d actually do it this time. Maybe one day, he’d see his own potential, he’d see how much farther he could go. 

Maybe someday he’d be brave enough to take a leap and fulfill his promises to you and himself. Maybe one day you’d finally be in a spot to build a family together. Or at least plan for it.

After all, you and Remus had real history. And he promised. Many moons ago.

Your love for him was why it was always so hard to do the right thing. 

Because as soon there was some disagreement, you knew, as much as he did, that no matter how upset you might be with him he could sweep you into his arms and all worry would melt away. 

In the small flat, you and Remus shared, under the warm light of the stray table lamp you’d dance. He’d take you in his arms and move along the soft rhythm of the music he’d put on. He’d kiss your temple and swear and promise.

Shallow words that at this point went in one ear and out the other. Promises of a future together, of applications that would never get done, of steps that would never even be attempted. 

But nevertheless, you forgave. 

You forgave four years of broken promises. You forgave the lack of a ring on your finger. You forgave the lack of planning for the future. You forgave his indifference.

You made yourself think you forgave him.

You tried to forget too.

Tried to forget his lack of ambition because why try when they would never want to hire someone like me? Tried to forget the way your mother had warned you about this a year back. Tried to forget the way Sirius called your phone last month from France, telling you you’d love it there, telling you it was a shame Remus didn’t want to go. How much of a shame it was that you had to miss out on life-changing experiences because Remus couldn't. 

Wouldn’t. 

Same thing.

Sirius called again a few days after you visited your brother.

“Is it raining there? The weather’s shit here at the moment” You ask, staring at the window, the raging storm outside banging against the glass and drowning the usual sight of the street bellow. 

“Meh- could be worse, I reckon it’s starting to warm up soon, so m’pretty excited about that,” He said, you hummed in acknowledgment “Have you talked to Moony again about coming? It really is beautiful in the summer doll— besides you can stay with me for free obviously”

You sighed

“No Sirius, I honestly don't even want to ask I already know how that one will go”

“So what? you’re not vacationing at all?”

“The only place I’m vacationing is in rock bottom Black-” you said, staring at the closed bedroom door. No doubt Remus was taking a small nap. The full moon was approaching.

Sirius tskd’d.

“You know you can always come… by yourself I mean, stay with me for a while”

“Sirius…”

“I know I know… I’m sorry-” Sirius tried laughing it off, the chuckle not lasting long as he asked, “Are you happy at least? With him.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that” You tried fighting the way your eyes seemed to immediately water.

“I fear it’s a pretty straight-up question- yes or no?”

“I don’t know if this is what happy is anymore” you whispered, afraid to state it fully aloud

“Then it isn't. When you’re happy, you know” Sirius sounded somber “You have to do the right thing, whatever is right for you not for him”

“It is never that easy”

“Yes, it is doll. It is always that easy”

You bid him goodbye soon after.

You chalked it off as Sirius not knowing what it was like to be with someone for years. You couldn’t just throw away the past four years of your life just because what? He was tired? He wasn’t putting as much effort as you wanted?

It could be fixed.

You were convinced you’d fix it as Remus trudged out of the room, hair disheveled as he rested his head on your shoulder. A kiss to the crook of your neck.

“Was it Pads?” he mumbled against your skin, you ignored the way you felt caught

“Yes”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, better than okay”

“I wish we could go to Paris” you tried not breaking down in tears right there and there. 

It was never about money. You could go on brooms for fucks sake. You could portkey right into Sirius’s little French apartment. 

You didn't ask him why not. Why not go? You drowned the question in the tea he eventually handed you. You had always been more of a coffee person, but much like everything else, you sacrificed it for his preference for tea and its calming effects.

You tried your best to fix it, for months. You’d lay down with him after work, card your fingers through his light brown locks, trace his scars while he fought off sleep, press a chaste kiss to his lips before he fell asleep. 

You started calling Sirius more often than not, in hushed whispers. Tears were often spilled. You stopped feeling bad eventually. It was just calling a friend in a time of need. Draining the disappointment you didn't dare throw in Remus’s face. 

He was going through enough.

You continued to hold on to hope.

You’d nudge him along. Try for new jobs, call friends to see if anyone, anyone at all, could find him an in with the ministry.

“He just needs to apply sweetie- this is stupid” Marlene rolled her eyes, her auror uniform casually unbuttoned after her day of work, she twirled the spoon in her tea with a small wave of her finger. “They’re starting these werewolf allocation programs, they make sure they’re given jobs and such…”

“I don't know if he’d like that” You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. You could imagine him already, turning his nose away from any sort of Ministry help.

“Can I ask why he isn’t the one asking me these things?” Marlene said a glint in her eye that let you know she knew the answer already. You looked away.

“Sometimes it's hard to do the right thing Marls”

“You need to do the right thing for yourself”

“Marlene-” you scoffed “Me and Remus just have too much history- how can I ever just choose me? It’s us”

“Maybe it’s time it’s just you” 

You stared at Remus that night, the soft music that played from his muggle radio filling the air between you. You stared at him silently, the curve of his lips, the soft of the apples of his cheeks. The silvery scars that ran across his face. 

You loved him, you did.

But you also did feel the very worst you could feel. No dancing in the kitchen could fix it anymore. No kisses and fake promises could fix it. Not anymore.

As soft as he made you feel, as much history as you had together. You couldn't help the overwhelming need to cry every time you looked at him. 

What the hell was he even doing? What were you doing?

Any plans you had dreamed of with him were now very quickly crumbling in front of your eyes. He continued to silently make tea. You hoped he wouldn't notice the stray tears that managed to escape your eyes.

You and Remus had what your brother always called real history. He just meant it was deeply engrained, in your bones, in your heart. He said it poignantly last time you popped in for a visit. His tone didn’t fail to chip at your heart.

Your years together weren’t something you could erase. Not that you wanted to. 

You were happy with him. Right? You loved him.

Maybe if you just gave him more time. You had graduated Hogwarts a mere two years ago. 

He had always been more than good to you. Even at your lowest. Even at his lowest. He was nothing but gentle and loving.

Maybe. Sometimes, love wasn't enough.

You didn’t say anything as he finished cleaning up the kitchen. He kissed your temple goodnight. You stayed up, staring at the phone line debating on calling Sirius, again. 

“I just don’t know what I should do…” you leaned against the wet metal railing of your balcony, the drops seeping into your pajama pants. You grabbed the base of the phone with one hand, the other holding the receiver up to your ear

“I don’t know why you’re asking me angel, you already know what my answer is going to be”

“Don’t be mean Sirius” he could hear the pout in your voice, and he laughed

“I’m not- you know I love Moony, we’ve been friends for ages but…”

“But?”

“I love you more” You didn’t respond. “And I think you need to love yourself more than you love him too” You could hear him inhale what you guessed was a cigarette

You hummed in acknowledgment, not daring to open your mouth at the fear that sobs would break your words.

“Don’t wear yourself out for someone that isn’t doing the same for you…”

“That’s unfair… he does”

“He forgot a card for your anniversary”

“It was a few days after the full moon…”

“Okay, what about your birthday? Or Christmas for that matter? What? D’you think I’d forget how you called crying? Every single one of those times” He said, you could feel your lip wobbling. “Come to Paris with me-”

“Sirius-”

“Just think about it okay? Promise me you’ll at least do that…”

“Okay, I will—”

“Right… ‘night love,” he said, you muttered a small goodnight “and for the record…” He hesitated for a second, almost as if he shouldn’t say it. Sirius was never one to stay quiet, he did this time. “Nevermind, I love you”

“Love you too Sirius” you answered, head hanging in defeat. The phone call clicked off.

It really wasn’t about Sirius you thought, as you guiltily crawled into bed with your boyfriend. Not about France either. You stared at his sleeping form.

It wasn’t about your and Remus’s history. It didn’t matter how long you had been together if there was no future.

It wasn’t about what your brother or Marlene, or even your mother thought. 

It was about choosing you. 

Right?

“Remus” you padded over and stood next to the small dining table that morning. 

“Yes?” He didn’t look up from his book, a bad habit he had picked up. He was never truly listening when he did that

“Remus have you applied to the job at the Ministry?”

“Mhm? Ministry…” he still didn’t look up, he took a sip of his tea “No I haven't yet, I’ll get around to it though, I just want to take my time with it you know?”

“Its an application how long can it take?” you could feel yourself start getting angry, and you looked away from him. Not that he had looked up to look you in the eyes anyway.

“I just want to give myself the best chance to get in.” he finally looked up from his book, an exasperated look on his face. You refused to meet his eyes “What's wrong with that?”

“You’ve been saying the same thing for ages Remus”

“We’ll I have other things going on— just because you have different ideas about what my progress should look like doesn't mean I’m not doing anything you know? Because I do, I do a lot actually” He said, staring at you as if daring you to deny that he did anything. 

Of course, he worked hard. You could never refute tthat. He moved his eyes down to his book.

You bit your tongue for a second, but the words slipped out nevertheless.

“Remus I don't think we can be together anymore”

“What?” the tone in his voice was nothing short of heartbroken. He searched your face for anything. Any hint that you weren't serious. “No”

Godric it was so hard to do the right thing.

“I don’t think we are on the same page anymore, you say things, you promise but…” you rubbed your temple, you could feel a headache coming “None of those promises ever come true” you sighed, finally looking at him

His eyes were rimmed red.

“You’re right,” he said, defeated, breathless.

“If you know I’m right why didn’t you just do it? I have never asked you for anything else, just for you to apply for yourself Remus, because you had said it was what you wanted”

You and Remus stared at each other. A blank look on his face as he looked at you, his nose red and tears threatening to streak down his cheeks. 

“Can you say something? Anything? Why didn’t you just do it?”

“I don’t know”

“You never know Remus, but I do and I refuse to wait for you to figure it out anymore”

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

let me know if you want to be added onto the permanent tag list ! also please check out my new series bless the telephone if you haven't already! MWAH thank you for reading <3

[moonlightdreamzz]

I NEED YOU — YANG JUNGWON

SUMMARY. In the midst of his breaking point, Jungwon’s need for your love, presence, and understanding becomes the only thing that can save him from himself.

GENRE. ANGST / MINOR FLUFF?

THEMES. Established!Relationship, Jungwon has a mental breakdown from the weight of the world being on his shoulders, and you’re too busy trying not to be clingy to notice the signs until it’s too late.

AUTHORS NOTE. Wow. This broke me. Wish I could get a big hug right now, but I can’t, so I wrote this instead. Jungwon deserves all the love in the world.

Outsideeeeeeeee.

Those were the words plastered on the photo of you, Nicholas, Harua, and Maki—the third picture tonight, by the way, of you out at some club, having the time of your life. Nicholas’ arm is draped over your shoulder, a wide grin on his face as you laugh beside him. Maki and Harua stand off to the side, equally carefree, all of you caught in that carefree moment you’d been chasing lately.

Jungwon watches the photo flicker on his phone screen as he sits alone in his practice room, the dim light doing nothing to lessen the weight on his shoulders. The team had just finished their rehearsal, and the pressure was eating him alive. He knew you were out with your friends, having fun, but it still stung. There was a part of him, buried deep, that resented the distance between you two lately.

You had been glowing, laughing more than he’d seen in weeks, spending time with everyone else. It made him happy to see you happy, of course. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. He missed the way things used to be—when you’d talk for hours, when he could just fall back into the comfort of your presence without feeling like he was a burden. Now, it felt like he was fighting for your attention in a way he never had to before.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to reach out. He wasn’t good at that, at letting anyone in, especially you. The weight of his responsibilities was suffocating, but even more so was the fear of failing. He knew you were there for him, always, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with the thoughts swirling in his head, the self-doubt that he couldn’t shake.

You seemed so free, so carefree, and it made him feel… well, small. He wanted to be there with you, to laugh alongside you, to be the person who made you smile without all the baggage of his worries. But every time he tried to break through the wall he’d built up around himself, he faltered. Maybe it was because he wasn’t sure you’d understand, or maybe because he didn’t want to burden you with his mess. You didn’t deserve to carry his weight.

And yet, that didn’t stop the yearning from growing.

It wasn’t just the jealousy that ate at him; it was the ache of wanting to be seen, to be close to you again. To feel that unspoken connection you two had, the way you used to reach out and pull him in. The way you used to be his safe space.

But this time, he was ready to let you in. He just wasn’t sure how.

Jungwon sat in the corner of your apartment, his silhouette barely illuminated by the soft light coming from the kitchen. He hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on. The silence in the room felt like it was pressing against him, suffocating him more than the world outside ever could. He wasn’t even supposed to be here—he didn’t live here, not really. But he’d found himself coming earlier and earlier, staying here longer than he had any right to.

He couldn’t explain it.

The weight on his chest was heavier than usual tonight. It wasn’t just the pressure of everything he was juggling—being a leader, trying to keep everything together—it was something deeper. Something gnawing at him from the inside. The way you’d been out so often with your friends, the way you were laughing, carefree, while he was drowning in his own head, alone with his thoughts. It made him sick to think about, but worse, he couldn’t tell you. He wouldn’t let himself be the kind of guy to ask for more.

But now? Now it was breaking him.

The door clicked open, and there you were. Slightly tipsy, glowing with that smile that always made his chest tighten, but tonight it felt different. You froze for a second when you saw him, and the confusion crossed your face almost instantly. “Jungwon?”

You clearly weren’t expecting him. But there he was. Waiting. Staring at you with an unreadable expression.

You walked towards him, and he just watched you move. Your carefree energy—it killed him, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He wanted to be happy for you, wanted to tell you how proud he was that you were having fun, but there was something in him that couldn’t. Not tonight.

“Why are you here?” you asked, trying to keep it light, as you kneeled beside him, your lips brushing against his cheek.

He didn’t even move at first. He just stared at you like you were someone he didn’t know. Like the person he once recognized wasn’t there anymore. Then his eyes flickered back to yours, and his voice came out sharp, cutting through the space between you two.

“Did you have fun?” The words were deceptively calm, but the tension in his jaw, the way his lips barely parted to speak—they were anything but.

You pulled back, blinking in confusion. “Yeah, of course,” you said, not understanding the sudden shift. “We had fun. Just like always.”

He didn’t reply right away. His eyes flickered over your face, but they weren’t soft anymore. They were cold, calculating, almost like he was searching for something in you—some sign, some acknowledgment, some… comfort. But there was nothing but this tension now.

You leaned in to kiss him again, but his voice stopped you.

“Why do you always look so happy with them? With him.”

His words were slow, deliberate, but they were jagged, like he was trying to bite back something bigger. You didn’t understand. “With who? Who are you talking about?”

“Nicholas,” he spat, the name falling from his lips like it burned him. “You’ve been out with him a lot, huh? He’s always got his arm around you. Always the one to laugh with you. I’m just…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, his voice breaking.

Your eyes widened as you took a step back, completely thrown off. “Jungwon, what are you talking about?”

But he wasn’t done. He wasn’t even close to being done.

His chest heaved with the frustration building inside him, his face turning red as his temper flared. “I’m just here. Sitting. Waiting. Watching you have the time of your life while I’m fucking falling apart.” His voice cracked on the last words, and you could hear the anguish in them, even if he didn’t want you to.

“You think I don’t see it? I see it, Y/N. I see you laughing with them, talking to them, and I—I just sit here. Alone. Hoping you’ll notice me. But you don’t. Not anymore.” His words were coming faster now, like a dam had burst and there was no stopping it.

You were frozen. Completely at a loss for how to react. This wasn’t the Jungwon you knew. He’d always been calm, collected, and so damn self-assured. But now? He was a storm, and you were standing right in its path.

“Jungwon…” You tried to reach for him, but he pulled away from your touch, his body stiff, like you’d just burned him.

“I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to be everything, to do everything right. For you. For the team. For everyone. But it’s never enough.” His voice broke this time, and he closed his eyes, his breath shuddering as he fought to keep himself together.

But he couldn’t. Not anymore.

“You don’t understand. You don’t know how bad it’s getting.” He wiped his face quickly, almost embarrassed by the tears that were welling up in his eyes. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I don’t know how to keep doing this.”

He broke then, his walls shattering around him. His voice trembled as he finally let everything out. “I just need you. All of you. I need you to be here, Y/N. I need you to see me. To really see me. Not the leader, not the boyfriend you think you have to be perfect for. Just… me.”

His head dropped into his hands, shoulders shaking as the weight of everything came crashing down.

You knelt beside him, your own heart breaking at the sight of him like this. But you didn’t know what to say. How to fix this.

“Jungwon, I—” you started, but he cut you off, his voice hoarse as he spoke between shallow breaths.

“You don’t have to say anything, Y/N. Just… just be here. Please. I need you so much right now.” His voice cracked, and he looked at you, the vulnerability in his eyes like nothing you’d ever seen before.

And for the first time, you realized just how deeply he’d been sinking, just how much he needed you in a way you hadn’t noticed. All the signs had been there, but you hadn’t seen them.

You felt your heart sink as you watched him, the quiet weight of everything he was carrying. He wasn’t just the leader, the strong one, the one who held everything together. He was Jungwon. And right now, that Jungwon was broken, and you couldn’t ignore that anymore.

You moved closer, slowly, like you were trying to approach a wounded animal. His eyes flicked up to yours, and for a moment, it felt like he was hiding everything again. But you weren’t having it this time.

“Jungwon… I’m so sorry.” The words tasted bitter, because you knew they weren’t enough, but they were all you could say for now. “I thought I was doing the right thing, giving you space… I thought I was being considerate, letting you have your time. But I didn’t realize I was missing the whole picture. I wasn’t seeing you. Not the way you needed me to. Not the way you are.”

You reached out then, your hand resting gently on his arm, like you were trying to ground him. “I know you don’t always want to show it, and I know you’re used to keeping things inside, holding everything together. You’re so used to being the rock for everyone else.” You shook your head, your voice steady now, growing with conviction. “But that’s not all you are, Jungwon. You’re more than that.”

You paused, taking a breath, needing to find the right words that didn’t just feel like empty reassurances. “You’re someone who thinks so much, who feels so deeply, even when you try to bury it. You’re someone who cares about people, and about me—and I can see that. But you’re also someone who deserves to be cared for, someone who needs someone to hold him, even when you’re scared to ask for it.”

You looked at him, trying to pierce through the walls he’d put up. “You don’t have to carry everything, you know. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be the strong one all the time. I see you, Jungwon. I see you as you—not just the leader or the one who’s always got it together. I see the parts of you that you don’t want to show, the parts you keep locked away because you think they make you weak. But they don’t. They make you real. And I love you for that.”

You reached up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing softly over his skin. “I love your mind, the way you think, the way you process everything, even when it drives you crazy. I love how you’re always looking for more, for better, for deeper meaning in everything. I love the way you care about people, even when it feels like it’s too much for you to handle.

You swallowed, heart pounding. “But what I love most, Jungwon, is how you let me in. Even when you don’t want to. Even when you try to push me away. Because I know it’s hard for you to open up. But I want to hear you. I want to know all of you—the good, the bad, the messy parts that scare you.”

You leaned in, your forehead resting against his for a moment, breathing him in, your voice soft but unwavering. “I’m here, Jungwon. I’m here, not just for the good parts, not just for the strong parts. But for all of you. And I need you to promise me something.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you, waiting. You could feel the weight of everything in the air, and you knew this moment could change everything.

“I need you to promise me that you won’t keep all of this inside again. Promise me you’ll let me help carry it. Promise me you won’t feel like you have to do everything alone. You don’t have to be the perfect leader, or the strong one, or the guy who always has it figured out. You’re allowed to feel everything, Jungwon. You’re allowed to need someone.”

You let the silence hang in the air for a beat, hoping your words were reaching him, letting him know that you saw him—the real him. Not the one who always had to be perfect, but the one who needed love and support just like everyone else.

“I’ll always be here, Jungwon. Always. But I need you to promise me that when it gets too heavy, when you feel like you can’t breathe anymore, you’ll tell me. Promise me you won’t keep it inside. I can’t help if I don’t know, but I’ll do anything to carry this with you. So promise me you’ll never shut me out.”

His eyes flickered with something soft, something vulnerable, before he nodded slowly, the weight lifting just a little.

“I promise,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but full of sincerity. “I promise I won’t shut you out anymore.”

The words hung in the air for a long moment, neither of you moving, neither of you speaking. But something shifted in him. His eyes welled with emotion, the walls he’d kept up for so long beginning to crack under the weight of it all. Slowly, like he didn’t trust his own body to move, Jungwon leaned into you, his shoulders shaking.

And then, before you could even react, the tears came.

His face buried in the crook of your neck as his body trembled, every sob hitting like a wave. His arms wrapped around you desperately, like you were the only thing anchoring him in this overwhelming storm of feelings he had kept bottled up for so long. The weight of everything—his doubts, his frustrations, his fears—broke free, and you held him tightly, letting him feel your warmth.

You didn’t need to say anything, you just held him, letting him release it all, your hands smoothing over his hair, brushing away the tears that didn’t stop flowing. You knew this was everything he’d been carrying. And you knew this was the first time he’d ever allowed himself to let it out like this.

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracked, barely audible as he clung to you. “I didn’t mean to say those things. I didn’t… I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear. I was just so… I don’t know, frustrated. And I—” His voice hitched as another sob wracked through him, his words getting caught in the choke of his breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away, I didn’t mean to be so… so cruel.”

You tightened your arms around him, pressing your cheek to the top of his head, feeling him break down in your arms, feeling the weight of his regret. The words were raw, the apology coming from a place of vulnerability you hadn’t seen from him before.

“Jungwon,” you whispered softly, your hands moving to his face to gently lift his tear-soaked eyes to meet yours. “You don’t have to apologize. I know it wasn’t you. I know it was the pressure and all the things you’re holding inside. But you don’t have to carry that alone anymore. You’re not alone in this.”

He nodded weakly, his breath shallow as he tried to steady himself, but the tears still flowed, a steady stream of remorse and raw emotion. “I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N. I don’t want to push you away again. I just… I didn’t know how to make it stop. I didn’t know how to… to let go.”

You kissed his forehead gently, wiping away the last of his tears. “You don’t have to do it alone. Let me help you carry it. Let me be here, really here, for all of it. You don’t have to hold it together all the time.”

He nodded again, his arms tightening around you as if he was afraid to let go, afraid that the moment this passed, the weight would return.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. “For being mean. For shutting you out when all you wanted was to be there for me. I don’t deserve you.”

You smiled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek as you looked into his eyes, making sure he could see just how much you meant it. “You do deserve me. You’re allowed to feel everything, Jungwon. And you’re allowed to have your moments, to be weak, to be scared. But you’re not weak for needing help. And I’m never going anywhere.”

With that, he let out a shaky breath, his body relaxing slightly in your arms, the storm of his emotions slowly starting to settle, the tears easing, though there was still that tremor in his breath. And for the first time in a long time, he felt a little lighter.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words trembling as they left his lips, full of sincerity, full of everything he had left to give.

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, a silent promise lingering in the air between you, that no matter how heavy things got, you’d always be there to help him carry it.

[colorlessjay]

In season 16, whenever Dean remembers the whole “Cas was not truly happy for YEARS before he cashed in his deal” he goes a little feral and attempts to smotherspoil him with love and attention even tho Cas is like…? with most of the extra attempts (man’s pretty simple with his wants and needs at this point and Dean fulfills them all like all the time now)

But Cas has learned Dean cannot be dissuaded from his course of action when he gets all “my beautiful wife was secretly unhappy (and maybe still is secretly sometimes!!!) and I must make up for it 😭😭!!!”

Bonus: S16 KNOWS S6 Cas is hiding stuff and is stressed and unhappy for those reasons but he’s like 😢😢 u don’t even know u want hugs rn and aren’t getting them either way

Guilt is a powerful thing ya know? It may not make us do things, but it makes us think and feel in a way that provokes action, be it good or bad

Neither Dean nor Cas, or even Sam are absolved of their crimes. All three of them have said and done things they all feel guilty for, and that guilt has made them act. Castiel, for most of his time on earth, has only ever acted because he feels guilt.

Guilt for sitting by and doing nothing for centuries, guilt for his doubt, guilt for the angels he's killed, guilt for never trusting Sam and Dean with his angel problems. Guilt for the leviathans, Mary's death, the angels' fall, for letting Dean down...

And yet, I believe Cas is able to pull himself out of that guilt after everything ha subsided. I believe Cas is able to forgive himself because he's learned that punishment does not absolve you of crimes. Cas tries to make up for his transgressions not through self punishment and banishment, but through self improvement and aiding others. It's why I think he had such a hand in New Heaven's creation with Jack

I don't think Dean is able to forgive himself. I think many people have forgiven him. But I don't think Dean will ever be able to let that guilt go, cause he's shackled to it

I can forgive Cas, but he can't forgive himself

So I like to think think that my version of S16 Dean would spend his time making up for it. He may not be able to forgive himself, but he can damn well try. He has years ahead of him, an eternity in heaven with the people he loves to look forward to (Cas made sure he knew he was going upstairs when the lights go out), and people he loves to keep loving.

So yeah, long winded way of saying:

I think Dean has an underlining fear that his husband is unhappy, both past and present. I think Dean would make up for it instinctively, pouring his efforts into his love and making sure Cas knows that Dean is gonna stick by him, think and thin

In sickness and in health

Through heaven, hell, and purgatory

-----------

anyways, ka-chaw

[darlingdaisyfarm]

oohhh ok this is so self indulgent but do you think you could do a short fic with ford comforting his fem!s/o that's crying because she doesn't feel like she's pretty enough? thank you lots of love 🥺🩷

prettier than a supernova | Ford Pines x reader

some people give compliments. Ford Pines gives a full scientific breakdown of how breathtaking you are

a/n: this is my soft little love letter to anyone who needs a reminder that they're perfect as they are. sometimes you need someone like Ford to tell you you’re worth more than the stars themselves. angel i hope this makes you feel warm and loved. just a little something to remind you that no matter what, you are stunningly, breathtakingly beautiful (also this can be read as gender neutral too!! this photo here is bc i love it and i think it just suits ford bc of sweater)

You don’t mean to start crying, you don’t want to. You press the heel of your palm to your cheek, frustrated. But that ugly feeling has been sitting inside you all day, heavily pressing against your ribs. Stupid, you think, you shouldn’t be crying over something like this. But it happens anyway as tears starts streaming down your face before you even realise what’s happening.

It started earlier. You’d caught your reflection in the mirror and for a second you had seen yourself the way you feared everyone else did. wrong. Lacking. Not enough. You ignored it at first, shoved it down, swallowed the bitter taste of self-doubt like it was nothing. But then it came back.

You thought Ford wouldn't notice, being too busy in his studies. But in the perfect silence of the Shack, your quiet sobs sounded louder than his own breathing.

“Darling,” Ford sets his book aside without hesitation. “come here.” his voice, as always sounds so quiet and calm, but it’s the way he holds out his arms that undoes you completely. There’s no question, no hesitation, just him, offering warmth, safety, attention, care.

So you go, you let yourself sink into his lap, curling up against his chest and the moment his arms come around you, your sobs break free. You press your face into his sweater, gripping the fabric and shut your eyes tightly.

Ford just holds you. No words, no shushing, he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t tell you to stop crying, doesn’t try to fix you. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he lets you cry, lets you bury yourself in his warmth, lets you be small in his arms. And you cry a little harder because no one’s ever done this before, not like this. No one’s ever let you be messy and sad and vulnerable and still held you like you’re worth something.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs after a while, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. ”talk to me. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head because the words feel ridiculous and too embarrassing. But Ford just waits patiently, his hand never stopping its slow motions against your back.

After a while you whisper. “i. . . don’t feel pretty enough.”

Ford stays silent. The sentence you said doesn’t compute, the equation is missing a crucial variable. His brain thinks. You've just said something factually incorrect.

He is quiet long enough that you regret saying anything at all.

“Not pretty enough?” you wince at how ridiculous it sounds when he says it. You stay silent again. “talk to me, please, you’re too important to me to watch you do this to yourself.” last words didn’t come out the way he had planned, but it doesn't matter. The sadness in your eyes is enough to make him want to shield you from everything that ever made you doubt yourself.

“I don’t know, Ford, sometimes i just feel. . . just not enough.”

Ford takes a deep sigh and pulls back to see your face. His hands come up, six fingers framing your cheeks gently.

“But, love,” he brushes away the lingering tears on your skin. “who put that idea in your head?”

“Just. . . my brain, i guess.”

Ford frowns at that response, trying to figure out how to undo that thought that’s been rooted in you for too long.

“Listen to me, you are the most stunning, breathtaking person i have ever had the privilege of knowing.”

You sniffle, trying to look away, but he doesn’t let you, tilting your chin up until you meet his gaze.

“Not just beautiful,” he continues, “though you are, undeniably. But everything. Your mind, your heart, the way you see the world, i have never known anyone like you. And i never will. You are brilliant and strong in ways i could never hope to be.”

You avoid his gaze, looking down despite his tries to keep your eyes on him. Ford notices, of course he does, he always does and before you can fall apart all over again, he kisses you. So soft, a gentle press of his warm lips, reassuring you. “I wish you could see yourself the way i see you.” he says quietly into your lips. But you shake your head and pull away, laughing through your tears, feeling how emotions overwhelm you again.

“Ford, no—“

“No,” he interrupts and you notice how his voice gets more serious. “you need to hear this. After spending thirty years traveling through dimensions, seeing entire different galaxies and universes, watching alien creatures with more eyes than you can count, none of them, not a single one of them, come close to how breathtakingly beautiful you are.”

You make a small, broken sound and Ford just holds you closer as he continues. You’re speechless, heart hammering in your chest.

“And don’t get me started on physics,” he laughs softly, pulling you against his chest and caressing your hair. “you are more fascinating than a perfectly symmetrical snowflake viewed under a microscope. More miraculous than the way hydrogen atoms fused together for billions of years just to create you. Darling, i’ve held technology so advanced it blurred the line between magic and science. But none of it, none of it, has ever left me as breathless as you do.”

He’s so serious, absolutely devastatingly serious. You don't know if it's the exhaustion or the overwhelming love in his genuine voice, but another real sob breaks out of you before you can stop it as you hug him tighter.

“I really. . . just really wish you could see yourself the way i see you. You are the most extraordinary thing i have ever encountered and i have traveled across the multiverse.” and it's damn truth because when Ford looks at you, he sees more than just a person. He sees a universe, complex and ever-expanding, a mystery he will spend his lifetime trying to understand and yet, always be awed by.

Your chest is aching. It’s too much, he’s too much. So you do the only thing you can think of. You kiss him. It's kinda messy, still wet with your tears, but Ford doesn’t care because the second your lips touch his, he pours all his feelings into it, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist, pulling you closer until there is no space left between you, reminding you of just how much he cherishes you, in every universe, in every corner of space and time.

And that's all you ever needed, to be held like the most beautiful thing in his entire universe.

“If the universe is infinite, then so is my love for you. If the stars will burn for billions of years, then let me love you for all of them.”

Ford cradles you against his chest, rocking you in his arms in a slow, soothing motion to calm his beloved. And for the first time in a long time, the voice in the back of your mind, telling you you're not enough, fades away replaced with the warmth of Ford's love.

“So, no, honey. I don't want to hear you ever say you’re not pretty again. Not when you're the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen. Not when i know you are worth more than every star, every dimension, every equation in existence.” you pull him closer, feeling the steady beat of his heart as you close your eyes, smiling softly.

The first rule of observation is to watch closely, to notice every detail, to understand what no one else does. And Stanford notices everything about you.

[dramalove247]

Can not stop thinking about this.

Style thinks there is a 50/50 chance Fadel will kill him. That means two things:

1) Snark and confidence are Style's sword and shield

2) Style is willing to die for a chance at forgiveness

Style knows he messed up. He knows he hurt Fadel. He knows Fadel is capable of killing him and has reason to. Still, he doesn't resist and goes willingly, even if he's scared, because he loves Fadel and he wants a chance to fix this. So he literally gives Fadel his life and hopes it is enough.

Even when Style is being confident and cocky to Fadel's face, deep down he fears love might not be enough. Even if he believes Fadel loves him, he knows love is not a guarantee that he will be forgiven. And in moments when he is sincere, and tired, and still, and has nothing to distract from the weight of his situation, his brave mask slips, and we can see the doubt and sadness Style works hard to ignore. Style doesn't want to die, but he will if that's where their love story ends because he refuses not to try.

Still, Style is going to Style. He's going to be over confident, flirty and snarky as hell because that's who he is. And if he's annoyed, you're going to know it. Style has already made the decision to see this through and he told Fadel he wont run. Style doesn't need a gun in his face to understand the situation he is in and he's probably pissed to be reminded.

Personally, we think Fadel wanted to believe he was 50/50 as well, but he was just lying to himself. In the end, Style got what he wanted and Fadel got what he needed. And now they get to love each other completely open and honest.

We got confirmation of this Unpopular Opinion in Styles own words!

Special thanks @tortibomb and @aprilblossomgirl for the perfect GIFS!

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ velvet crowbar ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ berlin x lover!reader headcanons

¡!being berlin’s significant other would include¡!

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

╰┈➤ berlin is immediately captivated by your appearance. there’s a rare elegance about you, an understated beauty that commands attention without trying. it’s unlike anything he’s encountered, and it draws him in effortlessly, leaving him interested to know more.

╰┈➤ while your beauty enthralls him, it’s your wit and charm that truly ensnare him. you have a way with words, a sharpness to your intellect that leaves him yearning for deeper conversations and a desire to unravel every aspect of who you are. you become an enigma he’s determined to solve.

╰┈➤ berlin’s nature is cold and unyielding, a result of two decades spent in the unforgiving confines of a north korean prison camp. his past is a tightly locked door, one he refuses to open at first. it isn’t a matter of trust, it’s his way of protecting himself from a pain he refuses to relive.

╰┈➤ dating berlin is nothing short of extravagant. he has a taste for the finer things in life, and he spares no expense in showing you that. lavish dinners, exclusive outings, and opulent gifts are all part of the experience. his funds, after all, seem endless, given the spoils of his opulent career.

╰┈➤ at the beginning, berlin is purposefully vague about his work. he deceives his around the truth with charisma and calculated deflections. when he finally reveals his identity, a high-profile criminal and a key member of his brother’s gang, you’re understandably shocked. but your love for him is more potent than your fear. he makes it clear that betrayal is not an option, his warning softened by the lingering heat of a kiss that leaves no room for doubt.

╰┈➤ his jealousy is a force of nature, impossible to contain. when he introduces you to his crew, it’s denver’s passing glances and rio’s inappropriate comments that instantly set him off. but what truly unsettles him is your bond with the professor, his brother. there’s something about how easily you and the professor connect, sharing moments outside of berlin’s presence, that claws away at him. he despises the idea of not being the sole center of your world, his need for control over both you and his relationships simmering beneath his polished exterior.

╰┈➤ berlin insists on having you by his side at all times, your presence a source of grounding and pride for him. though he would never risk your safety by involving you in the criminal work of his team, you are always there, his hand firmly holding yours, or you standing beside him, your hand resting on his shoulder, a quiet gesture of his authority and your loyalty. you speak in his defense or offer support when needed, an unspoken understanding between you both. despite your non-involvement in their activities, berlin bestows upon you your own city codename, kabul. it is a choice made with care, reflecting his regard for you and cementing your place within his world.

╰┈➤ there are instances when berlin’s volatile nature becomes a challenge. his mind, scarred by years of torment and isolation, is not entirely stable. his temper flares, and though his anger can be terrifying, he never directs it to harm you intentionally. when the storm within him finally subsides, he is left stricken with guilt, his apologies sincere as he cups your face, searching for forgiveness in your tear-filled eyes. seeing the hurt he has caused tears at whatever remains of his hardened heart, and he vows to try and control himself for your sake.

╰┈➤ the gang is stunned by your existence. berlin has always been a man of logic and control, a figure immune to sentiment or attachment. yet here you are, the one person who has unraveled him, proving that even he possesses a sliver of humanity buried beneath his cold, calculated exterior. you are his achilles’ heel, the one weakness that could undo him, and yet he clings to you as fiercely as he clings to life itself.

╰┈➤ berlin is unapologetically affectionate toward you, even in front of the other gang members. whether it’s pulling you into his lap during a quiet moment, brushing his fingers over your cheek, or pressing an unabashed kiss to your lips as if no one else exists, his displays of affection are bold and deliberate. he wants everyone to know you belong to him and, more importantly, that he belongs to you.

╰┈➤ as planning for the heist begins, you are present for every discussion and strategy session, a silent observer in the shadows of their grand designs. while you outwardly support berlin, deep down, you are uneasy about the plan’s immense scale and the inevitable danger it poses to him. yet you know berlin too well to argue, once his mind is set, there is no persuading him. all you can do is pray that his brilliance and luck will see him through safely.

╰┈➤ for the professor, your presence is an anomaly he hadn’t accounted for. in his meticulous calculations, you are the crack that threatens to destabilize his perfect plan. before the heist begins, he warns you in no uncertain terms, you are not to contact berlin under any circumstances. when the time comes, you will receive specific instructions, and you are expected to follow them to the letter. but that isn’t enough for you. the thought of being kept apart from berlin, especially in the face of such danger, fills you with dread, and you can’t shake the desperate need to protect him, no matter the cost.

a/n: let me know your thoughts or if you have anymore requests!! also part two to scarface is coming soon!! 🤍

[hearttoofull]

hushed promises with no hints of falsity.

˚ʚ🧁wanderer x reader

˚ʚ synopsis wanderer notices you’ve been acting a bit weird, to put it lightly, and decides to take matters into his own hands.

˚ʚ warning centered around bulimia / eating disorders, pls read at ur own discretion!

An untouched bento box sits in your lap, if you don’t count the few curious nibbles. (In your defense, it was impeccably packed.) Across the table you’re situated at sits Wanderer, who you think you have a good relationship with, despite the abundance of hurdles you’ve had to overcome along the way. Instead of joining you to eat, he opts for green tea in a delicate little cup with dainty pink flowers. You got it for him as a joke for his birthday last year, not actually expecting him to seriously use it.

Minutes continue to go by and you haven’t said a word besides a few mumbles when he asked you a question if the meal was to your liking, considering he’d made it himself.

“Why aren’t you eating on the table? If you drop anything you’ll make a mess, y’know” he muses while idly stirring his tea, keeping his head propped up with his palm. His words make you flit your gaze away from the bento and into his eyes.

Eat on the table? Seriously? And make it even more obvious that the thought had crossed my mind despite the promises I’d made to myself to not do so? Yeah right… is what you want to say, but you find the words itching at your throat, begging to be released. “I dunno, I just…”, the sentence dying at the tip of your tongue, “don’t feel like it”, sounding more like a question instead of a statement.

Wanderer stands up abruptly, the sound of the chair scooting against karmaphala floors louder than usual, given the uncharacteristic quietness of the room. He walks up behind you to gently grip your shoulders, his thumbs beginning to casually rub circles as if he were giving you a massage. “Have you been eating well these days?”, he murmurs while his fingers ghost over your thinning collarbones.

What? “Duh…”, your tone sounding off as you attempted to recollect yourself from his previous words. If any other person had asked you that, there’s no doubt you would’ve stood up right then and there, maybe launching that stupid bento at them in their stupid face.

He pauses his movements on your tense shoulders. “Liar.”

It was meant to sound more like a playful remark, but it comes off as cold as the food in your lap.

What? Is happening.

You turn back in your chair to stare at him with utter disbelief evident in your eyes and a face reddening with embarrassment. At this point, with the rate at how warm your face is getting, you don’t even try to defend yourself. It’s clear that he sees right through you. “You seriously think I wouldn’t notice your little habits?”, his words carrying a softer edge than to what you were used to, making you feel a bit queasy in your seat.

Wanderer walks back over to his previous spot in short strides to bring a chair next to you, not daring to break his eye contact with you in the process.

“I’ve… noticed that you…”, he begins slowly, “don’t like to eat the food I make for you sometimes.” You can tell his words have been carefully cherry-picked in fear that he’ll screw up and hurt you. “You can tell me anything. Anything that happens between us stays between us, remember?”

“I don’t… I-“ Oh god.

You’re terrified of the sudden confrontation. Any time you’d get into petty arguments with each other, you never wanted to admit you were in the wrong. The next day, you’d both act like nothing happened. But how could you just ignore things like that? It’ll remain in your head for the rest of the day, the guilt gnawing at you and leaving you with occasional pains in your chest when you’d think about it too much.

“Come here.” Pulling you from your reverie, he gently embraces you by your waist. It was so sudden, you could’ve sworn the action was a bit needy, with the way he keeps his hands grounded against your back and allows you to bury your head into the crook of his neck. In public settings when your thoughts got to you too much, you’d excuse yourself to the restroom with the sole purpose of crying it out or attempting to purge in the toilets, most of the time it was both. It’s honestly surreal to finally come to the point of realization that there’s no need in hiding it anymore, like it’s a huge secret or something.

“I don’t— know what to do with— myself anymore”, your words are interrupted by violent hiccups akin to a child’s sobs and sniffles, hands covering the pathetic state of your face.

He wishes he can do more to help you, truly, but in all honesty, his knowledge on specific human behaviors are minimal. Sure he knew the gist of your situation, but every time he thought of a possible solution, there was a feeling of doubt lingering in the depths of his mind. He doesn’t want to worsen your condition. He doesn’t want to hurt you. So for now, all he can do is provide you with open arms and whispered words of reassurance against your hair.

“Look at me” he commands gently, urging you to take your hands off and away from your face. It takes a few tries to do so. Once you do, albeit reluctant, he takes your face in his hands to cup your cheeks warmed by tears and embarrassment. “Listen. If you don’t want to tell me anything, that’s okay,” his gaze softer than what you’ve ever seen. “I want you to know that I’ve got you, okay?” You nod hesitantly in understandance, waiting to hear those words from literally anyone.

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

After calming down and tucking your pent-up emotions back into the recesses of your heart, all you want is to take a nap, or sleep forever perhaps. Not die, just peacefully rest for eternity. Speaking of, you went to sleep almost immediately after your little breakdown. Or maybe you passed out from an overdose of sadness. The memories following the climax of that afternoon are foggy with gaps. Or maybe you just choose to ignore them. All you can remember with clarity is falling asleep while Wanderer continued to whisper hushed phrases into the shells of your ears, tucking you in a little, maybe, too. You wouldn’t dare to forget that.

˚ʚ a/n hi tumblr… i think i spent like triple the amount of time designing the layout for this compared to the amount of time i took to write this. this feels pretty rushed but hey i think i did good for my first fic,,, i really wanna learn how to convey my feelings so i didn’t quite elaborate here as much as i as want to. the ending was meant to feel like reader is writing in a diary sort of? i hope that anyone who relates to this finds solace in it ♡ anyway peace out i have to do my homework now

[goldcleaver]

Phainon will fail Nikador's trial.

Let me explain;

TLDR; Phainon will fail the trial as Nikador will reject him. However, he will be chosen by Kephale to lead the people of Amphoreus to victory. The coreflame of Nikador will instead go to an unwilling Mydei.

Soooo, Phainon is off on a big adventure trying to claim Nikador's divinity after surrendering their coreflame to the Vortex of Genesis since the ambassador of the prophecy doubts his strength of will. I'm here to tell you that he will fail this trial in some shape or form.

Throughout the trailblaze mission, Phainon proves on multiple occasions that he worries about those he cares about constantly. Obviously, the best example of this is how desperately he wants to help Mydei fight Nikador. When he's denied, and sent to discover Nikador's weakness instead, he spends the next couple of hours in-game yapping about how much time they're wasting. He's worried out of his mind, and the rest of the cast picks up on it all the time.

Not only that, but he doubts himself. Something troubles him ahead of surrendering the Coreflame to the Vortex, which both Castorice and Dan Heng notice. He seems to have no qualms about admitting it, but he clearly can't shake whatever it is making him falter. 

While there is nothing explicitly stating what he's worrying about, the possibilities are endless. Prior to being chosen by the prophecy, Phainon was fuelled by his desire for vengeance, described by Castorice as being a "hollow shell". She questions whether or not his new mission takes priority over his desire for revenge. Similarly, Mydei says Phainon's fear holds him back, and that his resolve must be toughened if he is to withstand whatever Nikador throws at him. Phainon evidently wears his heart on his sleeve, and it's a very troubled heart.

What this shows is that Phainon is not ready to dedicate himself entirely to the fight, which Nikador demands. Nikador uses extreme violence to extinguish strife and war to maintain the balance of Amphoreus, which currently doesn't quite line up with Phainon's character. He is more inclined to using violence as a way of defending and protecting people.

Now, that's not to say that Phainon has nothing to do with Nikador at all. He seems to be a figure the people can rally around and follow into battle, much like Nikador. However, I don't think this is enough to see him through his trial.

So, while Phainon will be rejected by Nikador on account of his fears, he will instead be chosen by Kephale.

Phainon is the Deliverer. This isn't just a silly nickname given to him by Mydei - it's his role in the story of Amphoreus. When he has overcome his own struggles, he will lead the people and the Chrysos Heirs through the crisis and towards a new dawn. In Aglaea's own words;

Now, what exactly she means by this is unclear, but it gives me an uneasy feeling. The only miracles we have seen so far have all involved looking back in time, which Phainon currently cannot do. However, Aglaea's words are eerily similar to those describing the legend of Kephale's return in the Tides of the Basin. Here, Kephale leads the people to victory against the black tide, which seems more fitting for Phainon's character.

So, Phainon will be chosen by Kephale, whether that means receiving their Coreflame or assuming their identity, or perhaps he already is Kephale, in his own way.

This is not only conveyed to us textually via foreshadowing within the story itself, but it is also communicated via visual design. Phainon's design is positively littered with Kephale's symbol and other sun-related imagery.

I can spot at least 12 instances of Kephale's symbol or sun motifs in his design. That's no coincidence. In comparison, the only real reference to Nikador is the fact that he wears white, which Nikador also does, according to the information provided via the Tides of the Basin.

But if Phainon won't get Nikador's divinity, then who will?

Well, the game basically shoves the answer in your face; Mydei. He's the prince of Castrum Kremnos, he has some manner of bloodlust, and he has no reservations about using violence as a means to an end. On paper, he's the perfect candidate, which Phainon states to Aglaea. However, Mydei has refused the Coreflame. He has done so implicitly, as well as explicitly, to both Phainon and Aglaea. He doesn't want the Coreflame, nor the divinity that comes with it, because he's afraid of leading his people down the same dark path as his predecessor. Seemingly, the only reason he wanted to deliver the final blow to Nikador was for bragging rights.

Thus, something has to change drastically for Mydei to not only be offered the Coreflame, but to accept it. What this will be, I have no idea, but it will start with Nikador spitting Phainon back out without making him a demigod.

And if that wasn't enough to convince you; they are literally associated with these Titans in-game:

In their respective entries in Amphoreus' Saga of Heroes, Phainon is depicted with the symbol of Kephale, whereas Mydei is depicted with Nikador's. Whether this is an oversight on hoyo's behalf or a not-so-subtle attempt at foreshadowing, we will likely never know, but it's interesting food for thought.

Now, this isn't some earth-shattering revelation, nor is it some super deep character analysis, but it will be super interesting to see Phainon's story unfold. His character development has the potential to be some of the best stuff hoyo has ever written if they manage to pull it off.