#time duration calculator | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

viaxslz · 1 month ago

Text

. 【 ARRANGED ℳARRIAGE 】

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 !reader, cw: arranged marriage au, angst to fluff (ig), strangers to lovers (if that’s what they call it), super duber long (have this so I can disappear for a month), not proofread :P, Maknae line ver.

BANG CHAN

Your routines were simple. Wake up late, eat breakfast, get ready for work, evacuate the house, come back home, eat and sleep. It was a cycle that repeated itself every single day. You mainly did this to avoid any form of conversation or interaction with Chan. Being forced into an arranged marriage was something you wouldn’t even wish upon your enemy. Chan didn’t even look interested in this marriage. It was more like he was doing this because his family wanted him to and he had no choice. But slowly things started to change. Your conversations which Chan seemed to extend longer than usual, usually it would last for about 3 minutes that was the highest but recently you noticed and increase in the duration everyday. From 3 minutes to 5 minutes to 10 minutes now to 30 minutes. Chan also became less cold and blunt towards you, you swore whenever you talked you saw a hint of softness in his eyes. One day, the shift became way too obvious to ignore. You were eating cereal straight from the box on the couch, hair a mess, wearing an old hoodie that said “I paused my game for this?” when Chan casually walked in, ruffled your hair, and said, “You’re cute like this.” You swore almost choked on a cornflake. He gave you a sheepish grin, as if he hadn’t just dropped a flirt bomb out of nowhere and walked off to the kitchen like he didn’t just rearrange your brain chemistry. From then on, it only got weirder. One morning you found a sticky note on the fridge that read: "Good morning! Eat breakfast. You’re not allowed to die before me. –Chan” You stared at it for a full minute before whispering, “Was that…romantic or threatening?” You couldn’t tell anymore. Chan also started lingering. Like standing outside your room awkwardly like a lost Sims character, waiting for you to notice him. And when you finally did, he’d ask, “So… how was work?” and then stay for the answer. And the final straw? You caught him watching a YouTube video titled “How to flirt with your spouse (and not sound like a weirdo).” He turned around so fast when he noticed you standing there that he knocked over a chair. “THIS IS FOR A FRIEND!” “Sure, Christopher.” Now? You still wake up late, still eat cereal like a gremlin, but now Chan’s sitting next to you, stealing handfuls from the box and resting his head on your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And yeah, maybe the arranged marriage wasn’t so bad after all. Especially when your husband starts looking at you like you’re the reason he agreed to it in the first place.

LEE KNOW

Lee Know – CEO (aka the cat dad you didn’t ask for). Your marriage to Lee Know was less “till death do us part” and more “let’s pretend the other doesn’t exist unless absolutely necessary.” You weren’t sure if you married a man or a ghost in an expensive suit. Minho, ever the picture-perfect CEO, moved with the kind of grace that said, *I don’t have time for nonsense unless it’s my cats.* You’d see him in the mornings at exactly 6:45 a.m., sipping black coffee and reading through emails like the fate of the universe rested on quarterly revenue reports. You, meanwhile, woke up at 8:03, tripped over a charging cable, and once accidentally brushed your teeth with face cleanser. Communication between you two? Nonexistent. Unless you count: “The driver’s waiting.” “Your meeting’s in 10.” “Don’t forget to sign the documents.” And your personal favorite: the silent nod of disapproval when you wore mismatched socks. He didn’t seem cruel just cold. Calculated. As if this marriage was a merger he didn’t sign off on but was forced to green-light. But you noticed things. Like how your favorite snacks were always restocked, even when you never said a word. Or how your broken phone charger suddenly got replaced, still in its package, with a Post-it that simply said: Don’t electrocute yourself. Romantic. It wasn’t until the company hosted its annual gala that things really shifted. You wore an elegant outfit, sleek and simple. Nothing dramatic until Minho saw you and paused mid-conversation. His jaw actually dropped for a millisecond before he pulled it together and muttered, “…you look decent.” That was Lee Know language for breathtaking. But the real kicker? Midway through the gala, when some investor’s son got a little too friendly with you, you saw Minho appear out of nowhere like a well-dressed Batman. Hand on your waist. Voice dangerously low.“Back off. That’s my wife.” Your brain short-circuited. His hand stayed there the entire night. From that day, the cold war melted into something else. Minho started waiting for you before leaving the house. Sometimes he’d wordlessly hand you a protein bar. Other times he’d drop sarcastic compliments like: “Wow, you finally brushed your hair today. I’m shocked.” “Your socks actually match. Who are you and what have you done with my wife?” “Don’t trip on your own confidence.” But his eyes softened. His tone gentled. And sometimes, you’d catch him staring not annoyed, but like he was memorizing something. Then came the day you got sick. Like, knock-out-fever, can’t-move-from-bed sick. You were expecting silence, maybe a text from his assistant at most. Instead, you woke up to Minho sitting next to your bed, laptop balanced on one knee, feeding you soup with the other hand like it was just another meeting. You croaked, “Aren’t you busy?” He didn’t look at you. “Already canceled everything. Don’t be annoying, just eat.” That was the moment. You didn’t say anything then, but you knew. And then… the Instagram post happened. Minho, known for a perfectly curated CEO Instagram filled with black-and-white office photos, coffee mugs, and the occasional blurry cat picture, uploaded a photo of you. You were half-asleep on the couch, cuddling Soonie, with a blanket barely covering your legs. The caption? “I don’t like people. But I think I like her.” \#MarriedLife #MaybeNotSoBad #SheFeedsMyCats. You nearly threw your phone out the window. When you confronted him, red-faced and holding back a laugh, he shrugged. “Well, it’s true. Then, under his breath: “…I think I like you too.” Now your routines are a little different. You still trip over things. He still acts like sarcasm is his love language. But there are sleepy morning cuddles, late-night cat videos in bed, and coffee cups with “CEO’s favorite person” scribbled on them. And Minho? He’s not just your husband now. He’s the one who kisses your forehead when you think he’s mad. The one who takes photos of you doing mundane things and keeps them in a locked album. The one who now smiles when he says, “Don’t be late. I’ll wait for you.”

Arranged or not, it turns out love can grow even between a grumpy CEO and the chaotic disaster he calls his wife. And he wouldn't trade it (or you) for anything. Except maybe a fourth cat.

CHANGBIN

Seo Changbin – arranged marriage (aka gym rat husband with too many protein bars). You didn’t hate him. You just… didn’t know him. Which was a problem, considering you were now legally married. Changbin wasn’t cold or rude like you’d expected. If anything, he was too nice. The kind of awkward polite that made everything ten times weirder. “Good morning,” he’d say with a stiff nod, standing in the hallway like a guest in his own home. “Did you, uh… sleep well?” You’d blink blearily at him with toothpaste foam in your mouth and give a thumbs up. He’d smile like that was a full sentence. The routine settled fast: wake up, avoid eye contact, eat in silence, exist in separate rooms, occasionally bump into each other in the hallway and say things like “Nice weather,” even when it was raining. Changbin filled the space between you two with noise. his music, his workouts, the sound of protein shake bottles being aggressively shaken at 7 a.m. like maracas of doom. He was the kind of guy who labeled his snacks, used coasters religiously, and never left a dish in the sink. But you couldn’t hate it. You wanted to. It would’ve made things easier. But the thing is… Changbin was gentle. Soft voice. Softer eyes. Always said “excuse me” even when it wasn’t necessary. Even the cats that wandered into your neighborhood liked him. Betrayers. You tried to keep things distant. Professional. Emotionless. But one day, you came home soaked from the rain, your umbrella snapped, your bag drenched, and your patience gone. And instead of ignoring it, Changbin ran over with a towel, pulled you inside, and scolded you like a wet child. “You could’ve gotten sick! Why didn’t you call? I would’ve come to get you!” “…You don’t even have my number.” That night, he saved his contact in your phone as “Husband #1 (limited edition)” and made you ramen while you wore his hoodie. It snowballed from there. He started leaving post-it notes everywhere: “Don’t forget lunch , you’ll faint and I’ll be blamed.” “I put your socks in the dryer. You’re welcome.” “If you steal my protein bar again, I’ll sue. Just kidding (unless you do it again).” You started sitting with him during his gym sessions just to annoy him, asking things like: “Do you lift with emotion or spite?” “Is that your workout face or your constipation face?” “How do your arms fit into sleeves??” He’d throw a towel at your face and mutter, “I married a menace.” But he was smiling. The turning point came when you were crying. It wasn’t dramatic. You just had a rough day. work stress, a canceled plan, someone yelling at you over something dumb and you couldn’t keep it in. You thought you’d locked your bedroom door, but Changbin knocked softly and peeked in anyway. No words. He just sat beside you, offered his hoodie sleeve, and let you cry without asking questions. You sobbed, “Why are you so nice to me?” And he said, “…Because I care, even if I didn’t expect to.” You didn’t say anything. But after that, everything changed. You started eating meals together. Watching movies. Going on “we’re-not-dates” that somehow felt like dates. He even started letting you share his snacks (a big deal, honestly). Then one night, while the two of you sat on the floor playing some dumb board game you found in the back of a closet, you asked, “Do you ever regret this? Us?” He looked at you for a long time. “No,” he said quietly. “I just wish I knew you sooner.” Now? He still works out at 7 a.m., and you still mock him for drinking stuff that smells like blended chalk. But he wraps an arm around you when he sleeps, leaves space in the fridge for your impulsive dessert buys, and kisses your forehead like it’s a habit he never wants to break. It wasn’t love at first sight. But it’s love now. And if anyone ever dares say this marriage wasn’t built on something real, Changbin will fight them. With emotional damage and biceps.

HYUNJIN

Hwang Hyunjin – arranged marriage (aka dramatic art husband with a tragic monologue for everything)nYou expected drama when you were told you'd be marrying Hwang Hyunjin. The man was a walking poem. A painting come to life. The human embodiment of “I only drink rainwater and cry to Debussy." What you didn’t expect was silence. Not elegant, movie-worthy silence. Just… plain awkward silence. The kind where you’d both walk into the kitchen, lock eyes for 0.3 seconds, and then pretend the fridge was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. Hyunjin wasn’t rude. He was polite, respectful, a little stiff but always civil. He said “good morning” and “sleep well” like it was scripted. You once sneezed, and he bowed and said, “Bless you,” as if you’d just performed Hamlet on Broadway. He spent most of his time in his art studio, which you weren’t allowed to enter. You learned this the hard way when you knocked once and were met with, “Please… not now. The muse is fleeing.” You closed the door slowly, wondering if “the muse” was a metaphor or a literal pigeon. The tension was suffocating. You were two strangers sharing a home, avoiding each other like roommates in a haunted house. The most intimate you got was when you both reached for the soy sauce at dinner and almost touched fingers. He gasped. You blinked. It was chaos. But then you got sick. Nothing serious, just a fever. But you passed out in the hallway and woke up to a flurry of blankets, cold compresses, and the sight of Hyunjin frantically whispering, “You’re not allowed to die. That would be… tragically inconvenient.” After that? Something cracked. He started hovering. “Are you cold?” “Did you eat?” “Here, I painted you this because your eyes looked sad yesterday.” It was a painting of a wilted flower with a single sunbeam touching it. Dramatic. Excessive. Ridiculously beautiful. You teared up. “This is about me?” He looked away, ears red. “…It might be. The man began spiraling in affection. He’d leave sketches outside your door like secret admirer notes. He’d watch you while you read, then pretend he wasn’t when you looked up. You caught him once writing a poem that included your name and the phrase “gentle destruction” and he nearly swallowed his pen in panic. And then… the art studio. One evening, he called you in. Nervous. Fidgety. Hair tied up, hands covered in paint. You stepped inside, expecting portraits or abstract chaos. Instead, you saw you. Dozens of versions of you. Sleeping. Laughing. Crying. Even one of you brushing your teeth, titled: “The Mundane Divine.” You turned slowly. “Hyunjin…” He bit his lip. “I hated this marriage at first. I didn’t want to be forced into anything. But then I saw you. Really and i…” “You’re in love with me.” He blinked. “That was going to be the last line of my speech, but yes.” You stood there, heart pounding, eyes stinging, realizing that this man, this soft, dramatic, chaotic whirlwind of a man had fallen for you in silence. Through stolen glances and paintbrushes. Through unspoken worries and 3 a.m. tea offerings. You walked over, paint-stained floor forgotten, and kissed him. Soft, real, wordless.His eyes widened. Then fluttered shut. “Finally,” he whispered. “The muse returns.” Now? You still find random sketches of yourself everywhere. He still monologues about cereal choices like they’re Shakespearean tragedies. But he holds your hand like it’s art, kisses your forehead like you’re sacred, and calls you his “greatest masterpiece” when he thinks you’re asleep. Arranged marriage? Maybe. But it was never forced love. With Hyunjin, love was always waiting. It just needed a little time and a very dramatic entrance.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor

#stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids soft hours #stray kids soft thoughts #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids headcanons #stray kids fanfic #bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #lee know x reader #lee know fluff #changbin x reader #changbin fluff #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff

807 notes · View notes

smokesandsonatas · 9 months ago

Text

I just want to see the Octavinelle trio get surprised, tongue-tied and amused because the reader is cunning.

Characters: Azul, Jade, and Floyd.

Warnings: None, just the old contract signing the Octavinelle way. First person pov. Mostly in Azul's pov. Tension (?).

Not beta read.

Shrimp Cocktail.

Apparently, it does not take a lot to amuse the Octavinelle trio. Or the story where you took a deal with Azul and it went unexpectedly.

They should learn not to underestimate Shrimpy.

Azul had always underestimated you. In his eyes, you were a mere human—a dimwitted fish floundering in the waters of Night Raven College. You lacked the cunning and intelligence of Jade, who could manipulate any situation with a few well-placed words, and you weren’t a lazy smartass like Floyd, who could memorize an entire book but discard it just as easily if he found it dull and boring. With your easy-going nature, you seemed like the perfect prey.

Well, you are the perfect prey.

Here you are, sitting in Azul’s office at the Mostro Lounge, the twins flanking you in chairs beside you. Floyd lounged with a lazy grin, manspreading on the sofa, while Jade sat, poised like a gentleman, a smirk barely concealed behind his gloved hand. Grim had been left behind at the ramshackle dorm, leaving you alone in the scammer's den. Azul could barely contain his amusement—you had just fallen into his trap, one he fully intended to exploit. You sat quietly in front of him, your face poised with a neutral expression. To Azul and the twins, you looked kind, naive—perhaps even a little stupid. They think you are an airhead. Their excitement was barely contained. They got you right where they wanted you to be. Here in Mostro Lounge, with no one but them watching over you like predators waiting to pounce and choke their prey.

"You're here for the favor of us providing Grim with food three times a day, seven days a week, for the duration of your absence with Professor Trein as the school's official photographer at an event outside Night Raven College," Azul began, his voice dripping with the saccharine politeness he used to mask his true intentions. "In exchange, you agreed that you will work for fourteen days, regular shifts, without any compensation for Mostro Lounge. I expect you to fully commit to your duties."

You nodded, hands neatly placed on your lap, a small smile on your lips. "Yes, that’s exactly it."

Jade’s grin widened slightly. You were so naive, so predictable. Pathetic, really—but there was something endearing about your earnestness. Everyone in Octavinelle liked this about you—how you walked into traps with your eyes wide open, never realizing until it was too late. You really are a shrimp, through and through. No sense of survival, no sense of fear.

Jade could feel his twin looking earnestly in you, their expression one of amusement.

You will never survive in the ocean.

"Very well then, Prefect," Azul continued, practically trembling with excitement as he handed you a golden scroll, a quill magically appearing in his gloved hand. "Sign this contract, and the favor you ask shall be yours."

You took the pen, hovering it just above the dotted line. Azul’s eyes gleamed with anticipation—just a few more minutes—seconds, and you’d be bound by his terms, forced into two weeks of unpaid labor. The satisfaction was almost too much to bear. You would be working without compensation, and Azul could even charge you for any drinks or food you will consume during your shifts!

Azul had also noticed that whenever you work, customers come flocking in! Is it because you're the famed Ramshackle dormleader? He can only suspect so. He might also have you gather more customers—all for free, technically, you are working free to him anyway.

Azul raised an eyebrow when he saw you set the pen down and lean back, that small smile on your lips widening into something sharper, more calculating.

Azul frowned.

"Azul," you began, your voice light and casual, but with an edge that made the room’s atmosphere shift. The twins noticed it too. Jade’s eyes narrowed slightly yet the smirk remains in his lips, and Floyd’s grin widened a little more as they both watched you closely—their eyes glued to you as a clear sign of their newfound interest.

Azul blinked, thrown off by your sudden change in demeanor. "Is something wrong, Prefect?"

"Not at all," you replied smoothly. "I’ve just been thinking about our arrangement. Fourteen days of unpaid work for three meals a day for Grim. It sounds like a fair trade, but then I realized something interesting."

Azul’s hand twitched slightly as he tried to maintain his composure. The contract is perfect in his eyes, all will favour him, how could it not be perfect? "And what might that be?"

You leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. "Well, the contract is almost perfect. Almost. But there’s one tiny detail that caught my attention—the meals for Grim. You’ve agreed to provide them three times a day, seven days a week, but the contract doesn’t specify the quality of those meals, does it?"

Azul’s smirk faltered, it is common sense that Grim will be given tuna in cans, isn't it? "The meals will be adequate, and his favourite tuna—"

"Ah, ‘adequate,’" you interrupted, your tone almost playful. "That could mean anything, really. Some stale bread, leftover scraps—technically, that would fulfill the contract, wouldn’t it?" You giggle, a sound so sweet it almost had the twins—in their fascination, to stand up and hover behind you. You heard a thud, no doubt it was the twins. Jade’s eyes narrowed, yet his smirk remains, replaced by a look of intrigued and amusement. Floyd sat up straight, fully intending to be by your side yet his uniform was immediately yanked down by Jade, stopping him from interfering. Floyd almost let out a hiss at his twin, though eventually he relents.

"But here’s where things get interesting," you continued, voice dropping to a near sweet tone that Azul use. "If Grim receives such ‘adequate’ meals, he might not be satisfied. A can of tuna alone won't cut it, he needs meat. A properly cooked, healthy meat seeing as he is a carnivore. He could get hungry, irritated—perhaps even cause trouble." You pout—a gesture which distracted Azul for a second as his eyes fell on your lips—appearing as meek as possible, "And as his caretaker, his henchman, I’d be worried. Distracted. And a distracted worker is an inefficient worker."

You locked your eyes against Azul's blue ones.

Azul’s eyes widened as he began to see where you were leading him. He blinked in intrigued and a mix of irritation and amusement.

"And," you pressed on, now leaning on the table, merely inches away from Azul's face. "if Grim were to get sick or cause problems because of poor nutrition, it wouldn’t just be a problem for me." You roll the scroll and use it to poke Azul's chest. "It would be a problem for Mostro Lounge. After all, you’re responsible for providing his meals, for almost a week at that. Any disruption he causes would reflect poorly on your business, wouldn’t it?"

Azul’s mind raced as he tried to find a loophole, but you had him cornered. Refusing your amendment meant sticking to a contract that could end up causing more trouble than it was worth. Agreeing to it, however, would mean committing to a higher standard of care for Grim, cutting into his profits. Twenty-one cans of tuna is not a big expense for him, but if you're to insist on nutritious meals... Well, that would cost him much more than what he intended to provide for your gremlin of a cat.

A simple overlooked in his part really, perhaps it is his fault for thinking you're one of those anemones that will blindly agree to anything without reading the fine print.

Finally, Azul forced a smile. "What do you propose, Prefect?"

You smiled sweetly, as if this were all a friendly discussion. "I propose that the meals provided for Grim meet a specific standard. Balanced, nutritious, and satisfying. A mix of tuna and properly cooked meat. A steak even. That way, Grim stays in good condition, I stay focused on my task outside of Night Raven College, and Mostro Lounge continues to run smoothly." You smiled at Azul as you lean at the table—mere inches away from his face, the octomerman can practically inhale your scent, have you always smelled this good?

"I also propose that I won't do overtime during my shifts for fourteen days, though I will not get paid, I would love it if my meals and drinks are free of charge—all within the time of my shift, of course."

You smiled sweetly at Azul—the way you don't break eye contact. It's exhilarating. It's making him sweat under his dorm uniform. "It’s in everyone’s best interest, don’t you think?"

Azul hesitated. This was not the agreement he had envisioned. His meticulously designed scheme had been dismantled by your shrewd maneuvering. We're you secretly a trickster? Appearing naive and helpless yet you are the one who catches people in your trap of being a false prey.

With a begrudging sigh, he conceded, "Very well, I’ll agree to the contract your propose. The meals provided for Grim will meet the specified standards, and you shall have the favours you asked during the course of your shift at Mostro Lounge."

You picked up the pen again, a triumphant glint in your eyes as you prepared to finalize the deal. A sweet, sweet, smile on your lips. "Thank you, Azul. I’m so glad we could come to an agreement."

As you signed the contract, Azul's sense of triumph morphed into a tumult of frustration and begrudging admiration. It's disgusting, your body language appeals to him—he knows it appeals to the twins too, given how Floyd is laughing right now, with Jade snickering beside him. You're one of the first—if not the first who had successfully turned the tables on him. It is not even a heavy contract, just an agreement for food and yet, Azul concedes to your demands. Though he suppose it is not bad, since he will see you everyday for almost two weeks. What had seemed like a one-sided victory for him had morphed into a more balanced exchange. You had come into his office alone, seemingly naive, and yet you had outmaneuvered him with words that unsettled him deeply, yet amused him greatly—jellyfishes swimming on his stomach. Perhaps during that time for your compensation he will invite you to his office so he can give you a proper assessment.

Heh, not bad at all.

Jade and Floyd had their mismatched eyes glued on your form, as you stand. Admiring the sway of your hips as you walk outside the room where nobody ever comes out as victorious as you are. You, a small shrimp, had greatly amused the twins. Unfortunately for you, Floyd hates being bored and Jade loves unpredictability—both qualities you tickled the moment you succesfully negotiated a deal with none-other-than Azul Ashengrotto.

As you left the room, Floyd let out a low, almost purring chuckle—how dare you Shrimpy? His blood is now pumping in excitement because of you. "Hehe, Shrimpy’s got some real bite, huh? This is gonna be interesting."

Jade’s gaze followed you with a newfound intensity. "Indeed. The prefect is far more dangerous than they appear. Heh, perhaps they relish the game, much like we do."

Azul was left staring at the contract, his frustration intertwined with a growing, unsettling admiration. You weren’t the dimwitted fish he had thought you were. No, you were a tempest—a captivating, unpredictable force in the waters of Octavinelle. The way you had twisted the terms of the agreement had left him both disturbed and intrigued. Your brilliance was both unsettling and exhilarating, making him realize that you were a much more dangerous fish than he had ever anticipated.

A shiver of something dark and obsessive crept into his thoughts. You had managed to turn a simple negotiation into a display of strategic dominance, leaving him with a dangerous mix of respect and a growing, unsettling fascination. The twins are no better, Jade glues you into his memory, the way you answer casually—it is attractive. Floyd is well, Floyd. He might visit you later and compliment you for outsmarting Azul!

Hehe, who would've thought you are a predator in your own right? Perhaps the shrimp cocktail is a dish best served cold after all.

#twisted wonderland #floyd leech #jade leech #azul ashengrotto #twst headcanons #yandere twst #maybe #tension #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #octavinelle #s h u #twst x reader #twst x yuu

2K notes · View notes

gayestpiano · 2 years ago

Text

i made a playlist of songs that have a duration as a title

points of interest in this one:

i spent a frankly insane amount of time calculating how long “One Hundred Sleepless Nights” is, which culminated in using government data and an actual spreadsheet

“52 Weeks” < “365 Days” = “525,600 Minutes” < “1 Year”

“5 Years, 3 Months, 18 Days” followed by “5 Years, 4 Months, 3 Days” followed by “5 Years, 8 Months and 12 Days”

6K notes · View notes

literaryvein-reblogs · 8 months ago

Text

Writing Notes: Magic Systems

Magic - change wrought through unnatural means

Most fantasy can be placed along a spectrum where there are 3 main points: soft magic at one end, hard magic at the other, and a middle ground between the two.

Soft Magic

Magic that is not well-defined for the reader.

Generally, we don’t understand where the magic comes from, who can use it, or what its limitations are.

Readers can see this type of magic being used.

But they can never anticipate when magic will be used in the plot because they can’t begin to guess how it works.

You can’t break a rule if the rules don’t exist!

Most stories that feature this system will have the magic users be secondary characters, allowing them to avoid explaining exactly how the magic works.

It’s also argued that without knowing everything about the magic, it tends to hold more wonder and excitement for readers.

Hard Magic

Has very rigid boundaries.

Readers know where the magic comes from, how it’s used, who uses it, and what its boundaries and limitations are.

We know the limitations of the characters and can understand why they can’t simply magic themselves out of any particular challenge.

Stories with hard magic systems do not need to avoid the main character being a magic-wielder, as they have the capacity to explain to the reader what is going on.

A lot of writers this system because it gives them very explicit guidelines to follow in their plot and creates some more satisfying pay-offs for readers.

The Middle Ground

The meeting point between the soft and hard systems.

We might understand a bit about the way the magic works, but not all our questions are answered.

While most of the content adheres to rules, these rules aren’t fully explored.

This system relies on the reader’s suspension of disbelief.

The main character can be a magic-wielder or not, and it’s up to the writer to determine when magic will be used in terms of plot.

How to Choose a System

You can and should use these guiding principles to build your magic system. Remember that you don’t have to choose one or the other. Your system can draw from aspects of both. Just stay aware of the weaknesses of the path you choose, and ensure you utilize its strengths.

Use a hard magic system if:

You are going to use magic to solve problems

Your audience is accustomed to the tropes of hard magic

You are okay with jumping through hoops to expand your system

Your magic doesn’t convey a theme

Use a soft magic system if:

You want to convey a theme through magic

You want to create a sense of wonder

You want the ability to expand easily

You want to be accessible to a broader audience

Your magic won’t regularly be used to solve problems

Branches of Magic

Like most writing processes, there isn’t really a correct place to begin designing a magic system. A common, and efficient, place to start, however, is by choosing what type of magic system(s) you wish to employ, such as:

Nature-based magic: water, earth, fire, air, and everything in between

Divination magic: see beyond sight and peer through time and space

Conjuring magic: move objects through space over any distance

Psychic magic: master the world of the mind

Life and death magic: tap into the very forces of life, death, and un-death with this surprisingly versatile collection

Animal- or creature-exclusive magic: some creatures just do it better

Magitech systems: the blurring lines of sorcery and science give magic a next-gen, high-tech flair

Eclectic magic: it doesn’t have to be “real” magic to have a real effect

Uncommon magic systems: the unsung heroes of fantasy magic

AALC Method

How to create your own magic system using the AALC (Appearance, Abilities, Limits & Cost) Method

Appearance

What the magic looks like

Makes the world feel more exotic

Can cause problems for characters but cannot solve them

Usually tied to a character arc

Abilities

What the magic does

Points calculated based on magical effect, range, number of people affected, and duration

Characters have a finite amount of fuel (mana) to use abilities

More powerful abilities require more fuel

The fuel does not have to be overt for the audience to understand

If points not overt, cannot solve conflicts unless a cost system is added

Limits

Unlimited uses of magical abilities

Abilities stratified in codified levels defined by their limits

The more the levels' abilities and limits are known by the audience, the more they can be used to solve conflicts

Focused on clever uses of abilities against stronger foes

Cost system can be added to enhance dramatic moments

Cost

Costs must be greater than or equal to abilities to make them dramatically satisfying

Costs can include time, exhaustion, materials, sanity, morality, etc.

Adds dilemma to magic by forcing characters to make choices

The greater the character's sacrifice, the more audience satisfaction at conflict resolution

Each system builds on the previous ones, so that Cost Systems use all four, while Point Systems only care about Abilities and Appearance.

Multiple systems can exist within the same story, and systems can harden over the course of the story.

The Force, for instance, has been a Soft, Point, Level, and Cost System depending on who wrote it at the time.

SOFT SYSTEMS (Appearance Only)

Window Dressing - magic for secondary characters; can instigate conflict but cannot solve it; e.g., Gandalf

Soft Villain - No explanation or upper limits needed; makes villains more powerful to make heroes greater underdogs; e.g., The Emperor

Chosen One - Unknown power keeps hero safe throughout story; can be considered plot armor unless earned through character arc

Sort Hero Incomplete - Curse or positive ability the character cannot control; hero still learning limits of ability at story's end; powers and arc continued in next adventure

Soft Hero Complete - Hero embraces ability to complete arc and solve main conflict; magic must become harder in subsequent adventures

POINT SYSTEMS (Appearance + Abilities)

Points Opaque - Non-explicit reservoir of energy fuels powers; cannot solve main problems without cost option because characters finding hidden energy reserve feels like deus ex machina

Points Hard - Both abiliites and points system must be explicit like in video games; becomes about resource management; easy to understand but takes sense of wonder out of magic

LEVEL SYSTEMS (Appearance + Abilities + Limits)

Soft Level Static - Unchanging power without upper limits; cannot solve conflicts because feels repetitive; power must be used cleverly; e.g., Wolverine's healing factor

Soft Level Advancing - Increased powers or new powers with unknown limits; cannot solve conflicts unless tied to a character arc like Soft Hero Complete, at which point "unlocks" new abilities

Hard Level Static - Unchanging abilities with clear-cut limits; can solve conflicts so long as setup is properly seeded, usually resulting in sacrifice; e.g., Genie

Hard Level Advancing - Well-established abilities with limits; can solve conflicts based upon clever uses of abilities, usually against stronger foes; e.g., Airbender

COST SYSTEMS (Appearance + Abilities + Limits + Cost)

Static Cost - Well-established cost remains consistent for each use of ability; can solve conflicts since based on personal sacrifice

Cost Fluctuating - Costs change based upon dramatic need; costs must be greater than or equal to ability; possible costs include lost time, money, sanity, health, memory, life, morality, etc.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ Writing Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs Writing Notes: Magic System ⚜ Fictional Items; Poisons ⚜ Fantasy

925 notes · View notes

moonastro · 6 months ago

Text

MAHADASHAS in Vedic astrology

So I have wanted to make this post for a very long time and since so many of you wanted it, here it issss😊😊

So in this post I am going to be going through what each mahadasha may bring you in terms of life occurrences. I am also going to be including example of specific placements that can be correlated to life events according to your natal chart also, because the mahadasha that you’re in now, looking at its placement in your natal chart influences it also.

**i am also going to include my own examples of my own mahadashas for referencing purposes

How to calculate your mahadashas?? A very handy website is farfaraway or another one would be astrosage.

what is a mahadasha?? Mahadashas are an integral concept in Vedic astrology, referring to extended periods in a person's life dominated by the influence of a specific planet. Each Mahadasha spans a fixed number of years, with its duration determined by the Vimshottari Dasha system, which assigns a total cycle of 120 years among the nine planets (Sun, Moon, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn, Rahu, and Ketu). These periods are believed to shape significant events and themes in a person's life based on the nature, strength, and placement of the ruling planet in their natal chart. Within a Mahadasha, there are sub-periods, or antardashas, which further refine its effects.

sun mahadasha: lasts 6 years

being in the sun mahadahsa typically brings success in government related opportunities;

ego related conflicts or transformations

potential heart related illnesses or scares

12H sun linked to prison/ mental health institution/ travelling, 11H sun linked to joining groups/ finding your niche/ finding yourself, natal sun in 10H may mean career opportunities/public recognition/ relationship with father is improved if natal sun is placed well/ increased physical health/ having alignment with your purpose, 9H may be related to charities and being involved in government funded charities, 8H sun may mean related themes to banking/ financial problems/ injuries and hospital visits, 7H sun can be linked to marriage/law assortments, 6H suns linked to hospital visits/dental work/pet adoption, 5H sun linked to planning/ weddings/ hobby success, 4H sun linked to real estate/ moving house/ house decorating/ mother linked illness, 3H sun linked to transport/ car accidents/ document sorting/ government publicism/ expression of freedom, 2H sun linked to financial growth / recognition for financial gains/ can cause financial fluctuation is sun is afflicted in chart, 1H sun linked to increased confidence/ opportunities to take on leadership roles/ improved health if sun is not afflicted/ increased focus in life.

your antardasha with your sun mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ sun antardasha- leadership events and opportunities, success in hobbies and success in general, life may feel very bright and like its going your way, increased self confidence and socialisation.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ moon antardasha- emotional fulfilment, emotional excitement, feeling more excitement and feeling more in general,

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ mars antardasha- career progress and change, sudden courage to do stuff you have been putting off, potential for conflicts and arguments with those around you.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ mercury antardasha- intellectual growth and progress, potential studying success, communicative accomplishments and feeling like you get to express yourself truly with words, business advice and gains.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ jupiter antardasha- spiritual growth and gain, financial growth and having luck with money, lots of opportunities with learning and teaching.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ venus antardasha- romantic flings and developments, luxury acquisitions, artistic success.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ saturn antardasha- set backs and challenges, stability in career through hard work, something that was postponed being completed.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ rahu antardahsa- sudden changes, ambition changes and views, instability and irregular outcomes in life.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ ketu antardasha- sudden detachments, spiritual exploration, unexpected shifts in life and events.

moon mahadasha: lasts 10 years

strengthening of family bonds

marriage

childbirth

emotional outbursts

mental health challenges

12H moon events linked to emotional transformation/heightened sensitivity/ strong inclines to meditation and yoga/ opportunities for foreign travel/ time spend in tranquil places like the sea and such/ increased spendings on charities/ hidden expenses/ opportunities to address mental health problems/ seeking therapy and counselling/ a need for emotional support/ potential sleep disturbances/ health problems related to fluids stress and the lymphatic system, 11H moon events linked to experiencing financial improvements/ Opportunities to fulfil long-standing desires or achieve significant milestones in personal or professional life/ you might form meaningful connections with influential people/Possible involvement in large organizations /Strong emotional connections with friends and elder siblings/ dealing with groups/ You may feel emotionally attuned to the needs of your social circle/ This period could involve creative or artistic ventures that gain recognition/ Opportunities to participate in charitable or humanitarian activities might emerge, 10H moon events linked to Significant progress in the professional domain/Enhanced creativity and decision-making abilities in the workplace/ Periods of uncertainty or emotional dissatisfaction in the workplace/ Challenges in maintaining focus due to emotional instability or over-sensitivity/Situations where emotions or personal matters become public knowledge, potentially leading to stress/ leading to anxiety about public image/Establishing strong relationships with colleagues/Growth in popularity or admiration due to a nurturing and understanding nature, 9H moon events linked to increased interest in spirituality, religion, or philosophical studies/Pursuit of higher education or academic achievements, especially in fields related to literature, philosophy, psychology, or theology/ Long-distance travel, especially to spiritually significant or foreign locations/ Strengthening of bonds with father figures or teachers/ Events such as marriage, childbirth, or nurturing family ties may occur, 8H moon events linked to Interest in emotional healing or therapy to address past traumas/ gains through inheritance/ Possible focus on health, particularly related to reproductive organs, digestion, or mental well-being/ Interest in alternative healing methods or psychological therapies/ Periods of emotional isolation or intense self-reflection may occur/ Increased curiosity or involvement in spirituality, astrology,7H moon events linked to bringing recognition, popularity, or opportunities for interaction with the public/ An afflicted Moon could lead to mood swings, misunderstandings, or conflicts in relationships/ managing expectations and criticism could be stressful/could indicate issues with hormonal imbalances, digestion, or stress-related problems.

6H moon events linked to Increased focus on health, nutrition, and emotional well-being/Potential for minor health issues related to stress, digestion, or mental health, depending on the Moon's condition (afflicted or strong)/If afflicted, work-related stress or dissatisfaction might arise/ Efforts to clear debts or financial obligations/ If the Moon is unstable, there may be inconsistency or struggle to maintain balance, 5H moon events linked to New romantic connections might form, often with an emotionally fulfilling and nurturing partner/Focus on children becomes prominent- could mean having children, increased involvement in their lives, or emotional fulfilment through parenting/ Opportunities for higher education, especially in creative fields like art, music, or literature/ Potential issues with digestion or hormonal imbalances if the Moon is under affliction,4H moon events linked to deep connections with family and roots, particularly the mother or maternal figures/ Renovation, relocation, or acquisition of property, a home, or land/ The health or well-being of the mother may require attention, depending on the Moon's strength, 3H moon linked to Strengthening bonds with siblings, cousins, or close relatives/ Resolving past conflicts or offering emotional support to siblings/ Frequent short-distance travels, possibly related to work or leisure, 2H moon events linked to If the Moon is well-placed (e.g., in Taurus, Cancer, or Pisces), there could be a significant boost in income, wealth accumulation, or investments/ If the Moon is weak there could be instability in finances or unexpected expenses/ Overreaction to minor family or financial issues, leading to mental stress or decision-making driven by emotions rather than logic, 1H moon events linked to shifting towards improving physical health or appearance/emphasize self-awareness, self-expression.

your antardasha with your moon mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Sun Antardasha-Recognition, improved confidence, leadership roles.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Moon Antardasha- Emotional well-being, focus on relationships and family.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Mars Antardasha- Energy surge, possible emotional volatility.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Mercury Antardasha-Enhanced communication, creativity, and social interactions.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Jupiter Antardasha- Peaceful family life, spiritual growth, prosperity.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Venus Antardasha-Romantic harmony, material pleasures, aesthetic pursuits.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Saturn Antardasha- Responsibility, emotional resilience, challenges.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Rahu Antardasha- Disruptions, unexpected gains, emotional confusion.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Ketu Antardasha- Spiritual insights, detachment from worldly matters.

mars mahadasha: lasts 7 years

pursuit of goals

conflicts

injuries

career advancements in dynamic fields eg, engineering

property acquisition

12H mars events linked to Career opportunities in foreign locations or industries with global outreach/ Confrontations with hidden enemies, rivals, or legal issues/Possible health issues related to inflammation, accidents, or surgeries, 11H mars events linked to Increased financial gains, especially if Mars aspects the 2nd or 5th house/Potential career shifts involving real estate, technology, engineering, or entrepreneurship/ Surge in energy, drive, and physical stamina, 10H mars events linked to Opportunities for leadership roles/ Motivation to take bold actions that bring recognition and authority/ Potential disputes or challenges with authority figures or colleagues/ Acquisition of land, property, or vehicles may occur, 9H mars events linked to risk-taking, and embarking on exciting new projects, especially in areas related to travel, publishing, or exploration/ may face legal disputes or conflicts regarding ethical or moral decisions/ disagreements or confrontations with teachers, mentors, or father figures, 8H mars events linked to facing legal issues, conflicts/ there could be involvement in scandals/ Increased inclination toward bold decisions, possibly involving investments or entrepreneurial ventures/ might bring separations or endings to relationships, 7H events linked to disagreements or power struggles with a spouse or partner if not managed carefully/ might bring opportunities for relocation, especially related to career or a partner/ public disputes or criticism, 6H mars events linked to success in fields related to law enforcement, defence, healthcare, or litigation is likely/ adopting a disciplined fitness routine or overcoming chronic health issues/ involve paying off loans or managing financial liabilities, 5H mars events linked to focus toward education or creative fields, especially in areas requiring strategy, boldness, or physical activity/ Intense romantic relationships or passionate love affairs/ Risk-taking in speculative ventures like the stock market or gambling, 4H mars events linked to involvement in real estate matters such as buying, selling, or constructing property/Sudden changes in the living situation, such as relocating to a new home/ Purchase of new vehicles or upgrades to existing ones, 3H mars events linked to learning new skills, particularly those involving hands-on or physical effort/Care may be needed to avoid accidents or injuries involving the hands, shoulders, or during short travels/ Frequent short trips, either for work or personal growth, 2H mars events linked to heightened activity or conflicts within the family/Miscommunication or arguments could arise/A shift in personal values, 1H mars events linked to increased energy and focus on physical fitness/Potential for health issues related to injuries, fevers, or head-related problems/ may need to guard against rash decisions or confrontations.

your antardasha with your mars mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Sun Antardasha- Assertiveness, leadership, potential conflicts.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha- Emotional highs and lows, focus on family.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha- High energy, bold decisions, possible aggression.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha- Sharp intellect, communication successes, potential disputes.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha- Growth, wisdom, and spiritual aspirations.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha- Romantic encounters, creative endeavors, indulgence.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha- Hard work, career stability, delays.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha- Ambition-driven changes, risks, and gains.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha- Withdrawal, spiritual focus, endings of cycles.

mercury mahadasha: lasts 17 years

success in education

growth in writing

teaching others something new

enhanced social events

nervous system illnesses and health issues eg, anxiety, panic attacks etc.

12H mercury events linked to opportunities for relocating to or working in foreign lands/ Interest in learning mystical or abstract subjects like philosophy, psychology, or spirituality/Dealing with issues related to immigration, foreign investments, or disputes, 11H mercury events linked to misunderstandings in friendships or social circles/ Miscommunications or conflicts in professional or personal setting/ Success in educational or intellectual pursuits,10H mercury events linked to public speaking, writing, or intellectual discussions/Pursuit of higher education or specialized training to enhance career prospects/gain popularity through effective communication or innovative ideas, 9H mercury events linked to higher education opportunities/ Success in exams, certifications, or research/ Opportunities to learn new languages or skills/Relocation to a foreign country for studies or career advancements, 8H mercury events linked to trust issues or conflicts over shared resources/Periods of emotional intensity or fear of the unknown/New beginnings after endings, such as starting a fresh career or personal chapter, 7H mercury events linked to signing important contracts or forming alliances in business/Improved communication in relationships/marriage or significant relationship developments could occur, 6H mercury events linked to bringing opportunities to resolve karmic issues related to work, health, or service/ There may be a desire or need to pursue further education, certifications/ may face challenges in communication with co-workers, 5H mercury events linked to pursuit of higher education or specialized knowledge/New romantic relationships that are mentally stimulating or based on shared intellectual interests/ Success in childbirth and a focus on the intellectual development of children, 4H mercury events linked to changes in your living situation, possibly related to intellectual or family matters/Potential mental stress or emotional conflicts needing resolution/may also start to address any unresolved emotional issues that affect your communication and intellectual growth, 3H mercury events linked to focusing on connecting with a wide range of people, whether through social media, professional networks, or educational pursuits/Learning could become a central theme, and they may be drawn to acquire practical or specialized knowledge/short journeys and travel can become more frequent or significant, 2H mercury events linked to bringing health-related events concerning speech or the vocal cords/dealing with inheritance, family-owned businesses/ focus on earning money through communication-related fields,1H mercury events linked to opportunities for self-improvement, refinement of personal identity/Possible challenges with overthinking, stress, or scattered focus/Health concerns related to the nervous system or respiratory issues.

your antardasha with your mercury mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Sun Antardasha-Success in communication, leadership in intellectual endeavors.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha-Emotional expression, creative focus.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha- Dynamic decision-making, intellectual arguments.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha- Peak communication skills, learning, social growth.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha- Wisdom, financial gains, spiritual focus.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha- Creativity, romantic developments, luxury gains.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha- Patience in work, career consolidation, focus on responsibilities.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha- Innovation, unconventional ideas, potential instability.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha- Detachment, reflection, unique insights.

examples- during a mercury mahadasha (which is placed in the 8th house- linked to death and transformational events- my grandmother passed. it was during a saturn antardahsa that is placed in the 10th house which can often represents publicity. it was during a moon period also which links to the mother/ maternal side of family- she was in fact a mother figure.

jupiter mahadasha: lasts 16 years

marriage

childbirth

spiritual awakening

financial stability

opportunities for higher learning

overindulges and financial risks

12H jupiter events linked to resolving past karmic debts/focus on mental health, working through any subconscious issues that may affect their well-being/ undergo psychological transformation or healing, 11H jupiter events linked to increased communication with friends and colleagues/heightened public profile/ online education, social media, or content creation,10H jupiter events linked to significant career growth/make you overly confident in your career decisions, leading to overextension or unrealistic expectations/increase in income, 9H jupiter events linked to bringing opportunities for advanced studies, traveling abroad for education/pursue higher education or specialized studies, possibly abroad, with a focus on philosophy, religion, law, or foreign cultures/ expansion opportunities, 8H jupiter events linked to be drawn to the study of occult sciences, psychology, or metaphysical subjects, expanding your understanding of life's mysteries/may experience events that force you to adapt intellectually or communicate in ways that encourage deep self-exploration/may communicate in a way that deepens intimacy or resolves hidden issues in relationships. You might also explore subjects related to sexuality, psychology, or shared emotional experiences with a partner, leading to profound growth, 7H jupiter events linked to overindulgence or unrealistic expectations/involve entering a marriage or partnership with someone who shares intellectual interests/experience favorable outcomes in legal matters or business agreements,6H jupiter events linked to improvement in health or the ability to manage ongoing health issues/ focus on mental health, stress management, and using intellect to improve physical well-being/new job opportunities,5H jupiter events linked to heightened artistic output/enter into a fulfilling and expansive love affair/highly auspicious for having children,4H jupiter events linked to opportunities to learn about your ancestral lineage/ undergo significant emotional healing/ nurturing and supportive influence from your mother, 3H jupiter events linked to forming connections that broaden your influence, especially with people from different backgrounds or cultures/experience meaningful travels/bring opportunities for higher education,2H jupiter events linked to improvements in your family’s financial situation/could bring issues related to overindulgence or weight gain/brings wealth through various links, 1H jupiter events linked to leading to long-distance travel, cultural exchanges, or experiences that broaden your understanding of the world/can bring new people and opportunities into your life/engage in new health practices, adopt a healthier lifestyle, or embark on an exercise routine that enhances your overall vitality.

your antardasha with your jupiter mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Sun Antardasha-Growth in leadership, success, and wisdom.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha- Emotional fulfillment, peaceful family life.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha- Ambitious pursuits, bold decisions, leadership.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha-Learning, communication skills, teaching opportunities.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha-Spiritual growth, wealth accumulation, opportunities.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha-Harmony, luxury, and artistic endeavors.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha-Structured growth, disciplined success, challenges.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha-Unexpected opportunities, material focus.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha-Spiritual detachment, profound insights.

venus mahadasha: lasts 20 years

romantic relationships

financial prosperity

career growth in arts and aesthetics

acquisition of wealth and luxury

health concerns related to sugar and reproductive organs

12H venus events linked to luxury and comfort in foreign lands/ Spiritual growth and harmony through creative expression/Emotional struggles in relationships, secrecy, or isolation in love life, 11H venus events linked to increase in income streams/Fulfillment of long-held desires, such as purchasing a dream home, car, or luxury items/Living a comfortable and aesthetically pleasing lifestyle, 10H venus events linked to formation of significant romantic relationships, often with someone influential or from a professional setting/Opportunities to acquire property, vehicles, or luxurious items/A tendency toward excessive luxury or attachment to material comforts might create financial strain, 9H venus events linked to meeting a romantic partner during travel, education, or spiritual journeys/Pursuit of higher studies in creative or artistic fields such as literature, fine arts, music, or philosophy/ Significant foreign travel, possibly for higher education, career, or spiritual exploration,8H venus events linked to emotional turbulence, possessiveness, or issues of secrecy and trust in romantic relationships/ Periods of emotional vulnerability, including facing fears or hidden insecurities/Exploration of healing practices, such as alternative medicine or therapy,7H venus events linked to a strong likelihood of marriage/Acquisition of material comforts like a new home, luxury items, or vehicles/Enjoyable leisure trips or honeymoons,6H venus events linked to improvements in health routines/Support from professionals like dietitians, therapists, or wellness coaches/Debts, expenses on luxury items, or legal battles involving finances, 5H venus events linked to strong focus on romantic relationships/childbirth and receiving good new about children/having success with hobbies or falling in love with a certain hobby, 4H venus events linked to childbirth/ new addition to the family whether its a new sibling or cousin and such/moving house,3H venus events linked to lots of meaningful roadtrips/ successful communications with siblings and online/ online fame, 2H venus events linked to eating lots of good food/ gaining weight because of it/ eating too much sweet food/ cooking more often,1H venus events linked to self confidence/ regaining self care/ taking care of your beauty routine and hygiene.

your antardasha with your venus mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Sun Antardasha- Recognition in creative fields, leadership in arts.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha- Romantic fulfillment, emotional depth.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha- Energy-driven success, bold decisions.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha- Creative communication, intellectual success.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha- Wealth, harmony, spiritual pursuits.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha-Peak luxury, artistic recognition, romantic harmony.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha- Focus on stability, discipline, and practical pleasures.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha- Ambitions in luxury, unconventional partnerships.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha- Spiritual creativity, detachment from indulgence.

saturn mahadasha: lasts 19 years

challenges and delays

heightened focus on responsibilities

financial struggles followed by eventual rewards

periods of isolation

12H saturn events linked to depressed episodes/ isolation/ feeling suicidal, 11H saturn events linked to goals being achieved/ a new beginning of some sort, 10H saturn events linked to isolation/ having panic attacks/ being more self aware and reacting to other reactions towards what you do, 9H saturn events linked to opportunities for pursuing advanced studies/Significant journeys, especially for work, education, or spiritual purposes/Strained relationships with father, teachers, or authority figures, 8H saturn events linked to deep karmic lessons/suicidal thoughts or wanting to unalive oneself/ death in the family or just death/ major mental health issues, 7H saturn events linked to divorce- whether it be of parents, your own, or someone you know having a divorce that impacts you in a way/ legal problems to do with tax, document delay such as passport arriving or license being postponed, 6H saturn events linked to health problems/ getting severely sick and being impacted by it for potentially life long/ restricting diet or perhaps having a very poor diet, 5H saturn events linked to sparks dying/ interests falling apart or not working out/ finding an interest that you have been searching for a long time/final success in entertainment enjoyment, 4H saturn events linked to family disassociation/ leaving family home/ traveliing far awaty from home/ having conflict with family members, 3H saturn events linked to staying nonchalant/ reading more perhaps/posponed travel/ draining education, 2H saturn events linked to poor diet/ postponed finance opportunities which means bonus in job that is being postponed and so forth/ losing valuable items in home, 1H saturn events linked to un looked after appearance/ being depressed/ having a very isolative response to people.

your antardasha with your saturn mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Sun Antardasha-Career responsibility, leadership challenges.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha- Emotional endurance, focus on home and stability.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha-Determined action, potential for conflicts.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha- Strategic communication, intellectual growth.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha- Structured spiritual growth, gradual prosperity.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha- Balance between work and pleasures, creativity.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha- Discipline, karmic lessons, steady achievements.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha- Unexpected career twists, ambition.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha- Inner reflection, reduced material focus.

rahu mahadasha: lasts 18 years

Sudden gains or losses

travel

unconventional path

fame or infamy

challenges related to addiction or deceit

spiritual evolution if well-placed

12H rahu events linked to development in spirituality/ spiritual awakening/ travel to foreign land and having success, 11H rahu events linked to positive changes to social circle/ meeting someone destined or fateful/ turning passion into something real and organic/ achieving destined goals, 10H rahu events linked to destined career opportunities/having a successful career debut/ being recognised with your talents and being praised by it,9H rahu events linked to destined travel/ studying abroad/ having destined education education/ being inclined to teach their knowledge to the full of your potential, 8H rahu events linked to destined to destined transformational events happening in life/ major changes in life happening that changes your future/ big money opportunities, 7H rahu events linked to meeting someone karmic/ meeting a life long partner that most likely is destined or fate involved/ getting married, 6H rahu events linked to changes to the body and your health in a life changing way/ may give illness or heal illness that makes you take your health seriously and look after your health more carefully, 5H rahu events linked to transferring hobbies into something more entertaining/ learning a hobby that may give you opportunities that you have never thought of before/ experiencing destined flings and love interests, 4H rahu events linked to creating a family of own/ a new addition to immediate family whether its you getting pregnant or having a child/ destined events linked to family cycles that hopefully change for the better, 3H rahu events linked to destined education success/enhanced communicative skills including enhanced verbal skills/ learning how to be more confident/ destined local travel also/ relations with siblings taking a turn, 2H rahu events linked to destined money making opportunities/ reliving a finance mistake you've had before but learning from it/ experiencing some major finance transformations, 1H rahu events linked to destined appearance changes/ changes to style, fashion and beauty routine/ beauty transformation for the better.

your antardasha with your rahu mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Sun Antardasha-Unconventional leadership roles, challenges to ego.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha- Emotional instability, focus on unorthodox relationships.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha- Risk-taking, dynamic actions, possible aggression.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha- Unconventional communication, sudden opportunities.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha-Spiritual growth amidst material changes.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha- Intense romantic or material desires.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha-Grounding amidst chaos, slow but steady gains.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha- Amplified ambition, unorthodox successes or risks.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha- Spiritual liberation, detachment from chaos.

🤍🤍examples- a celebrity i studied debuted under a rahu mahadasha while their rahu is placed in the 10th house in their natal chart- symbolise career, opportunities, fame- they were under a sun mahadasha that the sun symbolises fame, and the time to shine which even more specifically their sun is placed in the 6th house- attached to labour, work and being overworked, physical appearance.

ketu mahadasha: lasts 7 years

Periods of introspection

spiritual growth

detachment from material pursuits

health issues

possibly abrupt changes in life circumstances

12H ketu events linked to changes of environment-which can be moving home/job/ hobby/ anything related to a shift in your atmosphere/ change in mentality, 11H ketu events linked to getting pushed to a new environment too quickly/ sudden changes in social groups/ forced to change occupation or how you make money,10H ketu events linked to change in job/ change in how you are viewd publically/ having a change of how you feel towards strangers,9H ketu events linked to being distant with your faith/ being put off from education and maybe not wanting to continue studying/ having no intentions to travel and having no passion for things that you used to,8H ketu events linked to death/ dept/ changes in spending habits, 7H ketu events linked to feeling lonely even if in relationship/ feeling no urge to be in a relationship, 6H ketu events linked physical illnesses occurring/ being more prone to unexpected illnesses and diseases- can occur in pets as well/ being strict with dieting, 5H ketu events linked to no interest in going out/ feeling more in tune with music or entertainment/ if in relationship losing attraction to partner, 4H ketu events linked to move in home/ family member fights/ old cycles occurring with family issues, 3H ketu events linked to unnecessary drama occurring/vehicle crashes/ poor communication/ staying more silent than usual/ sibling isolation, 2H ketu events linked to poor diet/ no interest in fulfilling basic hygiene/ not spending money or not recognising the amount of money that is being spent, 1H ketu events linked to going through a transformation/ appearance wise aswell.

your antardasha with your ketu mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Sun Antardasha- Inner transformation, potential challenges to ego.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha-Emotional detachment, spiritual insights.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha- Energy directed toward spiritual or bold pursuits.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha- Intellectual detachment, spiritual communication.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha- Profound wisdom, spiritual awakening.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha- Romantic detachment, artistic focus.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha-Karmic resolutions, disciplined detachment.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha-Confusion, spiritual redirection from materialism.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha-Deep spiritual evolution, endings of cycles.

🤍🤍examples- as soon as i entered my ketu mahadasha, i felt so disconnected with the world its crazy. i felt almost nothing, but felt everything at the same time- jokes on me, my ketu is placed in my 12th house- lots of mental health issues especially feeling numb about most things. i used to vivid dream like every day until i entered this mahadasha so weird.

but anyway if you made it this FARRRR, you're a real one fr 🤭but no i hope you enjoyed this post, and feel free to ask any questions 👀🌼😊

#vedic astro notes #vedic astro observations #vedic astrology #sidereal astrology #mahadasha #dasha #antardasha #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #astro placements #astro blog #celebrity astrology #astrology observations #astrology community #astrology

686 notes · View notes

zorosdimples · 1 year ago

Text

obey me brothers x reader⌇ tw: yandere elements, pseudocest, dubcon/noncon (it isn’t clear), tiny mention of monsterfucking. reader is initially gn but forced into a female role.

You’re mysteriously whisked away to the Devildom and forced to live with the seven avatars of sin; however, you aren’t there under the guise of an exchange student program, and you certainly aren’t enrolled in classes at RAD. Instead, you take up the role of the brothers’ departed and beloved sibling: Lilith.

Through Diavolo, Lucifer discovered that you are one of Lilith’s descendants. To appease his twisted desire for a “complete” family, he convinced the demon price to allow you to take up permanent residence in the House of Lamentation. And though none of the brothers actually share flesh and blood—nor you with them—they insist that they feel a kinship with you.

Lilith’s perfectly preserved bedroom is yours. They call you by her name and throw away all of your possessions so that you have to dress as she once did. In a home full of demons, you look like an angel, her pearly robes the only bright spot amidst the foreboding interior, the gauzy garments much too revealing for your taste. But you look just like her, Asmo croons. Beel licks your cheek (you taste just like her, too).

But perhaps even stranger than the brothers forcing you to fill the role of their dead sister—forcing you to walk like her and talk like her and act like her—is your mandated “bonding time” with the brothers.

Every day, they each get an entire hour with you to do whatever it is that they please. It often goes like this: Lucifer chats with you in his study over coffee and classical music; Mammon shops with you online or turns on a movie; Levi ropes you into two player games; Satan reads books to you; Asmo gives you makeovers; Beel drags you either to the kitchen or to the home gym; Belphie naps in your lap as you tell him bedtime stories.

But things look different when the brothers are feeling pent up. And for some reason—biological or calculated you have no idea—their sexual frustration always seems to always coincide. Then, you have seven hours of uninterrupted “playtime,” the duration of which you’ve never remained fully conscious.

Because each demon intends to use his entire allotted hour down to the millisecond, pushing your delicate human body to the limit. Whether it’s on a tongue that resembles a tentacle, clawlike fingers, or a cock bigger than your forearm, you will come so many times that all you can remember—all you can dream of—is how they call you...

Lilith. Sweet, sweet Lilith.

#this was written so quickly but you get the picture i hope!#so many warning tags kjabsdvjbdsjhbfj i gotta be Thorough #tw yandere #tw noncon #tw pseudocest #tw monsterfucking #tw dubcon #obey me smut #obey me x reader #obey me <3 #༄ kae writes

406 notes · View notes

lilacxquartz · 10 months ago

Text

JJK x Reader: What they would do for your birthday

included: sukuna, uraume, kenjaku & mahito

tags/themes: drabbles, fluff, slightly suggestive, slight body horror for mahito, 500-1000 words per character

ao3 link • masterlist • mdni

a/n: levelling up this month so why not a lil drabble post 💥 i’ll write one up for the other chars next time

Sukuna

You had been officially with Sukuna for about a year now and have lived together with him for about half of that duration.

Therefore, it was only a matter of time before you ended up spending your birthday with him.

Or so you thought.

Waking up, you were surprised to find the bed completely empty and utterly devoid of his presence. Instead, Uraume stood in the doorway with a neutral look on their face, entirely unphased by you being partially undressed with the covers only concealing half of your otherwise bare body.

It took you a while to adjust to their unwavering stare before you noticed that they were holding onto something.

At first, you couldn’t help but consider the possibility that perhaps Sukuna had arranged for a gift to be dispensed at their hands rather than to deliver it himself. However, the longer you both stared each other down, the less likely that seemed to be the case.

Stepping forward, Uraume snapped open a roll of measuring tape in their hands, the object making a tight whipping sound, “Your measurements, please.”

Blinking, you tried to process their request.

“It would be wise if you could cooperate with me,” they added, piling onto your strained silence.

“Hold on a sec,” you murmured, “let me just get dressed—“

“—I really don’t mind,” they replied stiffly, “nor do I care.”

“I care, a-alright?” you partially stammered, feeling your face warm up under their eyes. Curse Sukuna for requesting that you sleep unclothed. “Just step out for a moment. …Please?”

With a weary eye roll, Uraume complied with your request.

Quickly slipping into a tank top and a pair of underwear, you awkwardly cleared your throat a couple of times to signal that you were ready.

As they walked back inside, they swiftly manoeuvred around you, looping the measuring tape around your arms and waist with calculated precision as you stood there with slowly building discomfort.

“S-so… what’s this for?” you asked.

“For lord Sukuna,” they quietly replied while taking a step back, their eyes closing for a moment as though to make a mental note, “a request of his so that I can make some… adjustments.”

You nervously laughed in response in an attempt to lighten the mood, “You make it sound so ominous.”

Uraume however did not reciprocate, leaving you alone in the bedroom where you were left to gather what remained of your throughts for a good couple of hours. In that time, you chose to take it as easy as possible in fearful anticipation for what Sukuna might have had in store for you.

When the time finally arrived for him to make his grand appearance, you were sitting in bed half awake against the headboard, sleepily browsing your phone.

Sukuna’s footsteps were methodical as he approached you, holding onto what appeared to be neatly folded fabric. His pointed fingernails lightly threaded around the cloth, seeming careful not to tear through the material.

Warily, you sat up and steeled yourself, unsure as to what to expect all the while he extended his arms, offering you what you were certain to be a gift.

Before you could say anything however, he promptly cut you off with a disapproving tone, “You will refrain from getting sentimental at my offering. I’m doing this out of pure etiquette.”

You blinked at him with a confused arched brow as your mouth slightly hung ajar. Thinking nothing of it, you carefully unfolded the cloth, unfurling the creases and gently spreading out a robe similar to the one he often wore.

Unable to resist a smile, you couldn’t help but ask in a teasing tone, “Did you just give me a matching kimono? Are we really matching? That’s so adora—“

“—cease, the rags you otherwise wear are simply… unacceptable, that’s all,” he huffed in a curt response, seeming displeased with your remark. “This is more so to please me than it is for you to enjoy.”

Your smile continued to grow as his words went right over your head. No matter how much he would continue to deny it, he got you something personal—something purposefully commissioned for you to wear that matched what he had.

Attempting to further taunt him for being soft, you opened up your mouth to tempt the idea. However he quickly grabbed your wrist and yanked it towards him as a playful threat, his voice low and full of warning, “Don’t push your luck, brat. You’ll try this on and let me see how it sits on you.”

Stifling your mockery for now, you quietly obeyed his word without further question to which he released you to do so. You punched one arm at a time through the kimono while he helped you ease into it; his eyes fixated intently on how you wore it, silently judging how you adapted to wearing the cloth.

“Perfect,” he whispered under his breath, although the annoyance he felt prior was steadily returning the longer you stared at him with that irritating smile, “again, don’t mistake this gift as an act of kindness. I’m simply ensuring that you dress the way I’d prefer.”

“Sure,” you replied with a sarcastic undertone.

You couldn’t lie though, the material was perfectly soft against your skin. It felt like wearing weightless silk that both cooled yet somehow warmed your body.

And despite the coldness that he continued to deliver you with his pointed stare, there was a flicker of something else in the depth of his eyes. Perhaps it was care, no matter how much he denied being unable to feel such an emotion.

Or perhaps it was longing… or a subtler form of affection that you didn’t quite understand.

Whatever it was, the gift was a token of his claim towards you—for you to wear something he did too, to present to the world that you were in fact truly his.

Which in his eyes was the most meaningful gift that he could ever give.

Uraume

Your interactions with Uraume were always a hit or a miss, at least initially. Slowly, you grew to appreciate their company over the last couple of years and during more recent times, the pair of you had blossomed into a relationship.

Taking such a big step forward was a challenge for you both, but you did come to value the way they showed affection—no matter how subtle it always was.

Together, you lived on a property not too far from Sukuna’s residence. They were always available at a moment’s notice for his every whim and need, so often times you were left to spend the evenings alone and when your birthday finally rolled around, you didn’t expect anything less.

However, much to your surprise, Uraume seemingly got off much earlier than you had anticipated, arriving home just before it was too dark. Just before you were too tired to stay up for their company.

“You’re home early,” you said, greeting them with an acknowledging nod as they lingered in the doorway—both hands clasped onto a box that they held onto for dear life.

As they nodded back, you became curious about the contents and gently placed your phone onto the sofa to inspect what they were carrying. Carefully, you trailed off to where they stood, looking down ever so slightly while they figured out how to address you.

“…Today is a significant day for you,” they spoke up at last, their hands slowly extending as they attempted to part with the box.

You grabbed onto it, securing it at parallel ends.

“Correct,” you slowly nodded.

A moment of silence had passed before Uraume continued on with what they wanted to say, “As such, I have brought you something as a gift. Please open it carefully.”

Nodding once more, you heeded their request and placed the box onto the breakfast table, sitting on a chair and began to open up the box. Slowly, you unloaded a fine china tea set with a delicate touch.

“Is it acceptable?” Uraume asked.

“Wow, this is beautiful,” you whispered, carefully inspecting each and every single fine detail, seemingly hand painted onto the dishes.

“I used to have a similar set, way back then,” they added, “although I couldn’t find the exact original.”

“You have incredible taste either way,” you complimented.

Uraume’s lips curled slightly, looking away for a second as you praised them,

“Is it… acceptable?” they asked you again, wondering if it was a gesture that you enjoyed or not. Uraume didn’t like it when things were sugarcoated, preferring a blunt or clear response instead.

“Yes,” you replied, “I love it.”

For Uraume to not only consider your interest but to also add a personal flair and also locate something potentially rare and nostalgic to them was an incredible gesture to you.

Seeming pleased, Uraume continued, “I could prepare you some tea then, if you’d like. You should be sleeping soon, so a cup might be nice.”

“I’d love that,” you replied.

“Then please sit tight,” they smiled, “allow me to treat you as you deserve.”

Kenjaku

Going to sleep at Kenjaku’s side and waking up alive the next day was a miraculous accomplishment each and every single time. It was such a relieving feeling, that you almost found yourself feeling thankful that on your birthday, you woke up feeling perfectly fine without a hint of unwelcome surprise.

No suspicious incisions, no missing organs—you were fine, all fine. Just fine…!

Yet as you left the bed and saw a note sitting at the doorstep to the entrance of the bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy.

You warily picked it up, scanning over the surface of the paper:

‘Happy birthday. Your gift awaits.’

As you then unfolded the note completely, you found that there was more written on the inside; an unnamed address without any context.

Taking a deep breath, you braced yourself for whatever it was. You didn’t want to go anywhere unnecessary today, yet here he was, directing you somewhere potentially strange.

Chucking on your usual outfit—something lazy for running errands, you inputted the address into your GPS app and began to march towards the mysterious direction.

You supposed that you were lucky to be dating this man during the modern times, where you at least had modern technology to accurately guide you to wherever it was he directed you. Had this been just decades earlier with a paper map, you might have genuinely lost the single shred of sanity that you had left.

And upon reaching the address in question, you stepped inside what appeared to be an old antique shop. Inside stood an old man who trembled as he asked for your name, seeming equal parts nervous and relieved as he handed you a note with a key folded inside.

Sighing, you thanked the man and parted the key from the paper, reading more of his forsaken words:

‘Unlock compartment #51 and retrieve the contents.’

Doing just that, you asked the man if he knew what the note was talking about and with a strained nod, he led you to a small room filled to the brim with small drawers dotted with little key slots. You supposed that this antique shop somehow doubled as an old post office perhaps, given the worn state of the lockers.

You braced yourself for whatever you were about to find in the allocated compartment, frowning as you retrieved a small box wrapped in paper. Inside, was an even smaller box, although completely metal with a cap on it and to your lacking surprise, another note.

“Oh for the love of—“ you muttered as your eyes focused on the new piece of paper:

‘Return home and loudly close the door. Break the seal of the case and place it onto the counter.’

With an almost exasperated groan, you stormed back to your shared home and did exactly as he instructed—feeling genuinely unsure as to why you were torturing yourself on what appeared to be a scavenger hunt for what gave him the audacity to do such a thing.

You stared at the activated case with a narrowed gaze, half expecting the damned thing to blow up. It was surely not too promising as smoke seeped through the narrow ventilation slots and as a loud beeping noise played, but then you smelled something pleasant.

Kenjaku then materialised seemingly out of nowhere, jolting you with unanticipated surprise as he swooped in to disassemble the case, unveiling a small cake of some kind that he then took a bite out of, without offering you a single crumb.

“…Excuse me?” you asked, staring at him in disbelief.

“I haven’t had one of these for centuries,” he replied, his mouth slightly muffled as he chewed.

You continued to stare at him, “And why did you make me go through all of that?”

Initially he curiously hummed but then smiled upon finishing up the confection, “So that I could give you a gift that you wouldn’t forget. A pleasant memory.”

“I didn’t find it very pleasant…” you sulked.

Kenjaku simply continued to smile as he patted your head, messing up your hair in the process, “But it was definitely unforgettable, right?”

“I… I guess so?” you reluctantly supposed.

“Then, consider that to be my gift to you,” he replied, “a day of intrigue, but also enrichment.”

“T-thank you?” you replied in a state of quickly growing confusion; completely unsure of what was even happening.

Seeming satisfied, Kenjaku retreated from you as he slinked back into what was his study, “You’re welcome,” he sang before disappearing into the room.

All the while you could do nothing but simply stand there, confused yet also… somehow fulfilled?

Mahito

You weren’t sure how, but you managed to find yourself entangled in Mahito’s personal web. You weren’t sure as to why this strange cursed spirit seemed to spare you, but you were starting to wish that he hadn’t, given how often he popped into your own home.

You tried just about everything to keep him out, but he was just too damn determined. It was on a nightly basis that he made it into a routine; somehow breaching your barricaded doors and boarded up windows to routinely appear in your bedroom.

You could always tell when he was there, too.

Initially he gave you the creeps as he lingered in the shadows of your dark bedroom, but slowly he became something to simply just expect.

And with the all too familiar tapping of his knuckles against the wall, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed as he paid you yet another visit against your will.

Flashing on the lights, you bathed the once dark room in a blinding glow and there he was; stood idly up against your wall, waiting for you to notice him.

“Miss me?” he asked, leaning ever so slightly forward which caused his silver locks to sway.

You groaned into your pillow, turning away from him, mumbling something just coherent enough for him to parse, “I’m about to go to sleep. Go away.”

“Sleep? How boring~” he mocked in a jovial tone. “Especially on such a special day.”

You reluctantly acknowledged that it was indeed your birthday, choosing to push down the curiosity you had in mind with how on earth he managed to obtain such knowledge to begin with.

“Correct,” you begrudgingly replied, “so can my present be for you to leave me alone?”

Mahito simply laughed in response, a shrill and mocking sound escaping his lips. It always bothered you how expressive his features were yet how vacant his eyes seemed to be.

“Silly!” he exclaimed. “That would be rude of me, now wouldn’t it?”

“…The opposite, actually,” you mumbled.

Mahito pushed himself off of the wall and made his way to sit by your side while you were still in bed. He made a point of pulling off your blanket away from you and throwing the pillows off to the side—forcing you to whether you wanted to or not, to acknowledge his existence.

However, before you could react any further, his bare fingers brushed against your forehead with a strange, almost alien sensation that followed.

It felt like a headache of some sort but you couldn’t quite figure it out just yet.

Something was simply just… off.

Warily, both of your hands felt around your scalp, feeling something pointed and sharp spearing out of your head. In an attempt to get it off of you, you seemed to make the pain worse.

Such a realisation that he might have altered your body filled you with a deep sense of dread and that wasn’t a feeling you were particularly ready to accept.

“W-what did you just do…?” you asked with a trembling voice.

Mahito clapped his hands together in delight, seeming thoroughly amused at the sight before him. His eyes gleamed with pure excitement as he traced the air with a pointed finger, drawing an outline of your figure.

“Just a little something to get you into the party spirit,” he hinted with a sense of excitement that was just barely contained, “why not look into the mirror and see for yourself?”

Albeit reluctantly, you got out of bed and padded your way to the standing floor mirror that you had in the corner of your room. You weren’t quite sure what to expect, but upon seeing a literal organic mass spearing from the top of your head, it certainly wasn’t that.

The longer you stared at it, the more uneasy you felt.

The very sight of it alone made you feel nauseated.

“G-get it o-off…!” you barely choked out, the volume of your voice croaking out as nothing more than a whisper.

Mahito’s grin then grew wider, “Not yet, birthday girl. How about some gratitude for your very own built in party hat?”

Surrendering to his terms under the implication that he would undo such a ridiculous alteration to your body, you managed to sputter out that could have resembled coherent words.

“Th-tha-thank y-you, Ma-mahito.”

Yet, the patch faced spirit didn’t seem satisfied with your attempt at all, tilting his head off to the side as though to indicate disappointment.

“Let’s try again,” he requested with a feigned sulk, “with a little bit more enthusiasm, perhaps?”

“Th-thank you!” you blurted out, although still sounding more horrified than grateful.

“That’s better,” Mahito cheered on, his personality rebounding in a split second, “but still not quite good enough,” he added on, “one last time with the right amount of passion? Unless you’d rather I keep it permanently like that?”

“Thank you for this incredible gift, Mahito!” you exclaimed, practically shouting as your both your voice as well as your dignity left your body.

Seeming genuinely pleased, Mahito ran his fingers by your head once again before returning you back to your original form. Not only were you right as rain, but he also gave you a good minute to compose yourself, waiting for you to scold him.

“What was that…?” you huffed.

“A magic trick for your birthday party,” he beamed, charading the flick of a wand, “a gift to get you into the birthday mood!”

“Oh, I’m in a mood alright,” you sighed.

“Not to worry,” he announced after yet another moment of painful silence, his sudden movement jolting you, “I’m going to leave you alone for now. So goodnight, better be thankful or else I’ll bite tonight~!”

Your eye twitched as he continued to taunt you with the almost burdening reminder that regardless of his promised absence, that he would come crawling back into your life the very next day.

Perhaps however, you should be thankful that he only seemed to want to rile you up rather than to torture you.

So maybe that much was a gift in itself than anything else.

>>> more birthday jjk drabbles

349 notes · View notes

teddiee · 4 months ago

Text

Into Each Life: Chapter 13

Summary:

The bed creaks softly as the room falls into silence. The hum of the radiator is the only sound, but it does little to fill the quiet that stretches between them. Tony focuses on the ceiling, the dim outlines of the cracked paint and faint water stains visible even in the darkness. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. For a long time, he wonders if Bucky’s fallen asleep, his breathing steady and measured behind him.

Tony closes his eyes. He tries to swallow the lump rising in his throat, tries to press down the aching, clawing feeling that’s threatening to tear him apart. But it’s too much—too big, too heavy, and before he can stop himself, the words slip free, so soft they barely leave his lips.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Words: 9,914

Tony scribbles feverishly into his notebook, the faint scratch of pencil on paper filling the quiet room. His Art and Duty of Childrearing textbook lies abandoned on the floor beside him, pages bent and cover askew.

A casualty of negligence.

Propped up in bed, he leans against his and Arnie’s thin, mismatched pillows. The faint yellow glow of his bedside lamp casts long shadows across the cluttered surface of his nightstand, highlighting the smudges of graphite staining his fingers.

He nibbles on the end of his pencil as his eyes flick between messy calculations and intricate sketches.

The thing is, he had sworn off this nonsense weeks ago.

It had been a fucking headache, if anything. A dead end, something better left to time and the patience he didn’t possess.

Besides, the memory was still fresh—sharp words, sharper fists, and an ugly, lingering threat that Tony couldn’t dismiss, no matter how hard he tried to shove it into a deeper crevice of his mind.

And yet, here he was, defying all logic and better judgment, pencil in hand, letting curiosity pull him back in.

Because, like all bad ideas, this one had resurfaced with a vengeance.

(And had been sparked, no doubt, by both the mind-numbing drudgery of his current coursework and the glaring absence of a certain Alpha to distract him.)

His notebook is a chaotic sprawl of equations and diagrams, the pages covered in his usual chicken scratch, lines overlapping in a barely organized frenzy.

At the center of his muddled, distracted focus was the concept of a crystalline core—a theoretical medium to focus and amplify the radiation. Around it, he had scrawled potential materials, rough calculations, and the faint outline of a containment chamber: lead-lined walls to shield against leaks, an observation window made of reinforced glass, and a rudimentary control panel. The dials for adjusting intensity and duration are painstakingly labeled, though their precision remains theoretical at best.

In the margins, as if shouting at him from the page, he had scrawled the words “BIG RED BUTTON” in blocky letters, a failsafe to terminate the process in case of catastrophic failure.

The numbers sprawled across the page are rough, a messy mix of intuition and rapid estimations, but they start to form a picture.

He jots down an energy output estimate of 12.7 kJ/kg, scribbling question marks beside it, and notes that such an output might just activate Erskine’s super secret magic serum. The challenge, he knows, will be distributing the radiation evenly across a six-foot frame.

As he flips back through earlier pages, more questions fill the margins: What’s the long-term stress tolerance of synthetic quartz? What happens if the subject’s heart rate spikes? Could sub-threshold pulses mitigate the worst of the unintended effects?

He bites harder on his pencil, splintering the wood further as his scowl deepens. The textbook he’s supposed to be “studying”—yeah, right—mocks him from the floor, its neatly printed title a sharp contrast to the chaos of his thoughts.

At the bottom of the page, beneath the last hurried calculations, he underlines a phrase he’s written in bold, steady handwriting—a mantra that’s guided him through countless inventions and disasters alike: "Stark Rule #1: Always build it twice. The first one’s for the mistakes.”

He stares at it for a beat longer than necessary, then lets out a guttural groan, the kind that could rattle the hinges off the lab door. With a flick of his wrist, the notebook sails across the room, slamming into the wall before hitting the floor with an unimpressive thud.

“Brilliant,” he says. “Very mature.”

Fingers rake through his hair, tugging at strands as if loosening them might untangle the chaos in his head. He doesn’t even notice the caffeine buzz anymore—too much shitty dining room coffee, not enough food, and exactly zero good ideas.

“Some mastermind you are, huh?” He laughs, short and humorless. “Mastermind of digging your own grave, maybe. Idiot.”

A mastermind who will inevitably end up disowned, or worse, a victim of casual manslaughter, for this brilliant little detour.

He drops onto the bed like a marionette with its strings cut. The mattress groans beneath him in solidarity—or maybe protest. Above, the ceiling stares back, its cracks and water stains sprawling like some ancient, forgotten map. He traces the imaginary continents with his eyes, trying not to notice how the edges seem to blur.

"This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done," he announces to the empty room. His voice sounds small, swallowed by the radiator’s low, steady hum.

Hopelessly foolish endeavor or not, the itch won’t leave. It burrows deeper, demanding attention, like a stubborn splinter lodged under his skin.

The crystalline core. The perfect medium. The impossible dance of energy and matter, balanced on the razor’s edge of genius and disaster. It taunts him like an ancient spell, daring him to solve its riddle or perish painfully trying.

He turns his head toward the notebook lying facedown on the floor, pages splayed like a wounded bird. The edges flutter slightly in the breeze from the cracked window. For a second, he considers leaving it there—letting it rot alongside the other half-finished ideas that litter his life.

But a stronger, more reckless impulse wins out.

Tony rolls off the bed with a graceless grunt, landing in a crouch on the floor. He snatches up the notebook, ignoring the torn page at the corner, and flips it open to the most recent entry. His eyes scan the scrawled notes, his brain already working to untangle the mess of ideas.

"Okay," he mutters, dragging the pencil back to his mouth for another absent nibble. This is what happens when he skips supper—he starts eating his stationery. "What’s the play here, Stark? You need power—stable, scalable, non-lethal power. Sure. That’s easy. No problem at all. Just rewrite the laws of physics while you’re at it.”

He grabs a fresh sheet of paper from the nightstand, smoothing it out against the uneven surface of the bed.

"Step one," he says aloud, sketching a rudimentary diagram of the core’s containment unit. "Figure out the heat dissipation. No point in building a glorified bomb. Step two..." He pauses, pencil poised mid-air. "Find someone stupidly altruistic enough to let me test it on them.”

That thought makes him pause, his posture deflating as his expression twists into something sour. The shadows in the room seem to deepen, and for a moment, his hand hovers uncertainly over the page. He knows better than most what unchecked ambition can lead to. The wrong hands, the wrong intentions, the wrong test subject—it could all go sideways so quickly.

He sets the pencil down and exhales, his breath shaky.

"Stark Rule #2," he says quietly, repeating another mantra he’s lived by since childhood. He thinks of flying cars. Stolen glances at classified files on his father’s desk—nuclear bombs. "Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

The words linger in the air, heavy with meaning. But even as they settle, his eyes wander back to the notebook. The diagrams. The equations. The tiny, insistent kernel of possibility that won’t let him walk away.

Tony knows himself too well to believe he’ll leave it unfinished. He never does.

He lies sprawled on the cold linoleum floor, the growing ache in his neck a distant afterthought. His mind hums with restless energy as he conjures equations from nothing, the numbers unfurling like spectral ribbons. They stretch toward the ceiling, forming intricate patterns—floating variables that shimmer and shift, like constellations only he can decipher.

The ceiling becomes a canvas for his imagination, an infinite expanse where equations morph into possibilities. Variables twist and curve, dancing in a chaotic ballet as he tries to tease meaning from the mess. His lips move silently, murmuring numbers and theoretical principles, the words barely audible over the soft creak of the radiator.

A sharp knock breaks his reverie.

“Go away,” Tony grunts, rolling onto his side and sliding his notebook under his bed with a sharp shove.

The knock comes again, louder this time, insistent. Tony scowls, sitting up on his elbows and glancing warily at the door.

It’s past curfew. Room checks were hours ago.

It’s clearly not enough to stop Tompkins and his pathological need to catch Tony in some imagined act of delinquency and debauchery.

Well, maybe not so imagined, not anymore. To the trained, prying nose, his sheets most definitely still smell like Bucky.

Tony had been writhing in his lap only twenty-four hours earlier, after all, before Bucky had so graciously flipped him around and pinned him to the mattress, spread Tony’s hips with his thighs, sucked a bruise to his collarbone, and rocked him to a swift, messy orgasm before Tony could even unbutton his pants.

“So easy, doll,” Bucky had laughed into Tony’s throat, squeezing Tony’s hip as Tony’s pleasured aftershocks ebbed into a more heated type of mortification.

“Gonna have to hand wash these, you animal,” Tony groaned, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow and hiccuping weakly as Bucky punished him with another slow drag of his hips, relishing in Tony’s overstimulation.

“Not my fault you’re on a hairpin trigger, kid.”

“Don’t call me ‘kid’ when you just made me blow a load into my pants, Barnes, gross.”

It’s too late now for Tony’s sheets. Besides, until Tompkins catches Tony ‘in the act,’ so to speak, Tony has just been heavily relying on his best friend—plausible deniability.

Straightening his tie (askew since breakfast) and brushing graphite smudges from his hands, Tony clears his throat. "I'm studying," he says, loud enough for the words to carry through the door. “You know, like a model student.”

There’s no response—no impatient drawl, no snide comment about Omegas needing discipline. Just a muffled sound that sends a prickle of unease down his spine.

“Byron?” he tries again, this time more cautiously. His hand hovers over the doorknob. “If this is another surprise ‘search and seizure’, you’re too late, sir. My harem’s already disbanded for the night.”

Still nothing. He presses his ear to the door, straining to catch even the faintest sound. Then, almost imperceptibly, a sniffle.

Tony freezes.

He finally swings the door open, the sight on the other side rooting him to the spot.

Becca Barnes’s shoulders tremble under a plain uniform sweater, her face blotchy and streaked with tears. Her hands tremble as she clutches a crumpled telegram to her chest, fingers gripping it like it’s the only thing holding her together.

“Tony,” she whispers, her voice cracked and broken. Her red-rimmed eyes lock onto his, filled with a grief so deep it takes him a moment to find his voice.

“Becca? What—” He stops short, stepping aside to let her in. She sways slightly as she crosses the threshold, and Tony catches her elbow, guiding her to sit on the edge of his bed.

Her shoulders shake with barely suppressed sobs, and Tony drops to his knees in front of her, uncertain, his mind racing.

Tony, historically, doesn’t do well with tears. Other people’s or his own. He doesn’t know how to handle them—what to say or where to start—but something about the way she trembles makes his stomach twist.

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stares down at the telegram clutched in her lap, her knuckles white and trembling.

“It’s Joey,” she finally chokes out, barely managing the words before her voice breaks.

Tony’s brain stalls, caught between relief that it’s not Bucky—it’s not Bucky, he hasn’t gotten his orders yet—and a sharp pang of guilt for the thought. His eyes flick to the telegram in her hands, and though he doesn’t ask for it, she thrusts it toward him like it’s burning her.

With hesitant hands, Tony unfolds the paper. The words hit him all at once, stark and clinical against the cheap yellow stock.

“We regret to inform you that Private Joseph Proctor is missing in action. Further updates will follow as they become available.”

Missing in action. The phrase lingers in his mind, carrying with it the weight of all its implications. Not dead, not confirmed—but not safe, either. Not home.

“Becca,” he says carefully, setting the telegram down on the bed beside her. “I—” His voice falters, and he rubs the back of his neck, trying to find the right words. His tongue feels like lead in his mouth.

Her shoulders shake harder, and before he can figure out what to do, she collapses forward into him.

Tony freezes. She’s clutching at his shirt now, sobbing into his shoulder, and he’s absolutely, completely out of his depth. He sits stiffly, his arms hovering awkwardly in the air, panic rising in his chest.

What is he supposed to do? Hug her? Say something? He glances around the room as if the peeling wallpaper might offer some guidance.

“Uh, hey,” he tries, his voice thin. “It’s—uh—okay?”

She doesn’t stop crying. If anything, she sobs harder, her entire frame trembling against his. Tony’s heart hammers in his chest, and finally—finally—he manages to drape one arm around her shoulders in the most awkward, tentative hug imaginable.

“There, uh… ” He clears his throat, patting her back stiffly. “There, there?”

She doesn’t respond with words, just cries harder, and Tony’s awkward pats slow until he’s holding her in a loose, uncertain embrace. The position feels strange, foreign, like wearing a suit two sizes too big.

He doesn’t... comfort people. He’s not good at it. But Becca is falling apart in his arms, and for once, he can’t bring himself to pull away.

“It’s… it’s not over yet,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, less stilted. “They said he’s missing, right? That means there’s still a chance. He’s probably out there thinking about you. About how much he wants to get back home to you.”

Becca hiccups, her tears slowing enough for her to look up at him, her red-rimmed eyes searching his. “What if… what if he doesn’t come back?”

Tony’s throat tightens, and his own breathing suddenly feels constricted in his chest. He forces himself to hold her gaze as he says, “Then… you’ll deal with it when you know for sure. Until then, don’t let yourself lose hope, okay? John wouldn’t want you to.”

“Joey.”

“Joey wouldn’t want you to.”

Tony’s grip on Becca spasms momentarily, his knuckles white against the dark fabric of her cardigan, before he loosens his hold again, uncertain. She doesn’t pull away, just leans into him, her weight anchoring him to the moment. Her breathing hitches, soft hiccups breaking through the stillness, and Tony focuses on those tiny sounds because they’re easier to manage than the chaotic storm brewing in his own head.

He doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know how to do this. Comforting people, sitting with their pain—it’s all alien to him. It feels like trying to hold water in his hands, everything spilling through the cracks no matter how tightly he tries to hold on.

He’s failing, isn’t he? He must be. Becca’s still crying. His words hadn’t helped. His presence hadn’t helped. He’s just a placeholder—just here because she needed someone, anyone, and he happened to open the door.

She’s trembling in his arms, hiccupping breaths that shake her small frame, and he doesn’t know what to do with it—with her grief, with her fear.

Because it isn’t just her fear anymore, is it? It’s his, too.

The thought twists something sharp and bitter in Tony’s chest.

He’s spent months shoving it down, locking the fear away behind the endless buzz of equations and ideas and the warmth of Bucky’s grin, the way his voice drops when he teases Tony, the way his hands linger like they never want to leave.

Tony had told himself that was enough. That as long as Bucky was still here, still with him, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

“Do you ever think about the war?”

The crumpled telegram sits on the bed beside them, the stark, clinical language burned into Tony’s mind.

Missing in action.

It’s Joseph Proctor's name on the paper, not Bucky’s, but for the first time, Tony lets himself consider—really consider—that it could be.

That one day, some faceless messenger could knock on his door, hand him the same slip of paper, and tear his entire world apart in one word.

He swallows hard, his throat tight and dry. The thought feels too big, too heavy to hold in his chest, and yet it’s there, pressing down on him all the same. He’s spent weeks pretending the war was something far away, something that happened to other people.

Other Alphas. Not Bucky.

Not his Bucky.

But the war isn’t far away anymore. It’s here, in his room, in Becca’s shaking hands and tear-streaked face. It’s in her sobs, and the weight of the paper she’d handed him like it was burning her alive.

It’s in the question he’s been too afraid to ask himself: What if?

Becca shifts slightly against him, and her words pull him out of his spiraling thoughts. “I don’t know how to do this,” she whispers, her voice breaking again. “I don’t know how to… to sit here and not know.”

Tony closes his eyes, gripping Becca a little tighter. His breath feels too fast, too shallow, and he forces himself to focus on her instead of the spiral pulling at him. She’s here, crying, looking to him for something—comfort, answers, anything—and he has nothing to give. Nothing that doesn’t sound empty or wrong or too much like a lie.

“You just… keep going,” he mutters, his voice thin, shaky. The words feel foreign in his mouth, like they belong to someone else. “You block it out. You don’t think too much. And you hold onto…” He trails off, his grip loosening as he glances at the telegram again. His throat tightens as the words hang in the air between them.

Because he doesn’t want to imagine the empty days and nights Becca will have to face, the silence stretching on without answers. He doesn’t want to imagine himself sitting in this same position, staring at a piece of paper with Bucky’s name on it.

Don’t think about it. Don’t let it in. That’s how he’s survived so far, isn’t it? By not letting it in?

Becca pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at him, her red-rimmed eyes full of a quiet kind of devastation. “Is that what you do?” she asks, her voice soft, hesitant, like she already knows the answer and doesn’t want to hear it.

Tony’s breath catches, and for a moment, he can’t meet her gaze.

The truth sits bitter and heavy in his chest, impossible to spit out. He’s been doing exactly that—blocking it out, refusing to think about the letters piling up in mailboxes, the names of boys shipped off to fight wars they might not come back from.

Refusing to think about Bucky and the unspoken inevitability hovering over them both. Because once he lets himself think about it, there’s no turning back.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs finally, his voice quiet and strained. “Maybe.”

Becca’s hand brushes against his, tentative but steady, and it jolts him like a live wire. He glances down, startled, as her fingers curl lightly over his. “Tony,” she says softly, her voice still trembling, “Bucky’s not going anywhere. Not yet.”

The words hit him square in the chest, a mix of comfort and something sharper. Not yet. It feels like a countdown, like the moment the other shoe will drop. And yet, it’s also true. Bucky hasn’t left. He’s still here, sneaking through Tony’s window, teasing him, stealing kisses when no one’s looking. He’s still here.

Tony nods slowly, forcing himself to meet Becca’s gaze even as the weight of everything presses harder against his chest. “Yeah,” he says, the word barely audible. “Not yet.”

Before Tony can fully process the weight of his own words, the air shifts around him, subtle but inescapable. He feels it before he understands it—a presence folding into the room, slipping between the stale heat of the radiator and the sharp tang of Becca’s distress.

And then, it’s there. Firewood and snowfall.

It wraps around him in a way that’s both grounding and unbearable, soothing and terrible all at once. It floods his senses, pulling him from the moment even as it tethers him more tightly to it. Tony’s breath catches, his pulse stumbling over itself as the scent settles deep in his chest, heavy and unshakable.

The window creaks.

Tony stiffens, his heart kicking hard against his ribs—equal parts anticipation and dread—as Bucky hauls himself through the narrow opening. He moves with the same practiced ease as always, his boots landing softly on the floor, his shoulders rolling loose as though the weight of the world has never once touched him. His hair’s mussed, wild from the wind, and his sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, revealing arms dusted faintly with soot. And then there’s the grin.

Lopsided, easy, and warm, like the night is his to command.

Tony can only watch, frozen in place, as Bucky brushes dust from his shirt and casts a glance around the room, oblivious to the weight pressing down on it. “Evening, sweetheart,” Bucky greets, his voice rich with its usual warmth as he runs a hand through his windswept hair. “Didn’t think you’d still be up. Know I wasn’t supposed t’stop by tonight, but…” He shrugs, his grin widening. “Thought I’d surprise you.”

For a moment, Tony feels like a rubber band pulled to its breaking point, every part of him stretched thin under the collision of two worlds. Bucky, carefree and teasing, full of life and ease. Becca, trembling in his arms, her grief still a raw, open wound. The contrast is jarring, the shift too sudden to reconcile, and it leaves Tony paralyzed under the weight of it.

Bucky doesn’t notice. Not at first. He’s still unwinding his tie, pulling it loose with a casual flick of his wrist. “Miss me?” he teases, stepping further into the room.

Then he sees her.

Bucky’s steps falter, the grin freezing halfway across his face before it dissolves completely. His gaze sharpens as it locks onto the bed, his brow furrowing deeply as he takes in the scene: Becca, curled tightly against Tony’s chest, her face blotchy and red; Tony, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, his body wound so tight it might snap.

“Becks?” Bucky’s voice cuts through the silence, sharper now, tinged with alarm. He steps forward, his movements slow but purposeful, his steel-grey eyes darting between Becca and Tony. “What’s going on? Why is she—” He stops, his jaw tightening as his gaze lingers on Becca’s trembling frame. “Why is she crying?”

Tony tries to respond, but the words catch in his throat, jagged and unsteady. “It’s…” His voice falters. He swallows hard, forcing the words out. “It’s Johnny.”

“J-Joey,” Becca corrects between hiccupping sobs.

Bucky freezes, his entire body going rigid. The name seems to hang in the air between them, heavy and suffocating. Slowly, his expression shifts, the confusion melting into something darker. “Joey?” he repeats, his voice quieter now, lined with a growing edge of dread. “What about Joey?”

Becca doesn’t answer. She doesn’t lift her head, doesn’t even look at him. Instead, she presses her face harder against Tony’s shoulder, her sobs rising again, fractured and uneven.

Tony swallows thickly, his gaze darting between the siblings as he wordlessly gestures to the crumpled telegram on the bed.

Bucky’s eyes follow the motion, narrowing as he steps closer. His hand trembles faintly as he picks up the telegram, unfolding it with a deliberate precision that belies the storm gathering behind his gaze. Tony watches the exact moment the words hit him. Bucky’s face tightens, his jaw clenching as his eyes dart across the text.

Missing in action.

The words seem to knock the air from his lungs, leaving him standing there, silent and still, his jaw working silently as though trying to chew through the implications.

“Goddammit,” Bucky mutters under his breath, his voice low and rough as he rakes a hand through his hair.

He doesn’t move immediately, doesn’t turn to Becca right away. Instead, his gaze flicks to Tony.

His expression is unfamiliar. Raw, unguarded—emotions that Tony isn’t sure he’s meant to see, and it makes his chest feel too tight, like the oxygen has been sucked out of the room.

Tony meets his eyes, the breath catching in his throat as the unspoken passes between them. He feels the weight of it settle in his chest, as heavy as the telegram.

Bucky sighs, sets the paper down on Tony’s nightstand, and takes a cautious step closer. His hand moves before his words can, reaching out to settle lightly on Tony’s back. The touch is brief, almost fleeting, and Tony flounders under the weight of it—his own nerves fraying at the edges.

For just a moment, the world seems to still. Bucky’s thumb brushes against the edge of Tony’s neck, the faintest, almost imperceptible movement—and Tony’s breath hitches, his gaze flicking to Bucky’s face. There’s something uninhibited in the way Bucky looks at him that makes the knot in Tony’s chest loosen, if only slightly.

Tony swallows, nodding once in acknowledgment, though his heart feels like it’s clawing its way out of his ribcage. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t trust himself to.

Bucky’s hand twitches but lingers for another heartbeat before he pulls it away, his movements deliberate as he shifts his attention to Becca.

He moves quietly, his boots barely scuffing the floor as he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed beside her. The mattress dips under his weight, and for a moment, Becca doesn’t react. Her small frame remains hunched over, curled against Tony’s chest, her fingers clinging tightly to his shirt.

“Becks,” Bucky murmurs, his voice low and gentle as he leans toward her. He reaches out, his hand hovering near her back before settling lightly against her shoulder. His touch is cautious, careful, as though afraid she might break beneath the weight of it. “It’s me. I’m here.”

Becca hiccups softly, her sobs catching in her throat as her head shifts slightly, her cheek brushing against Tony’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Bucky soothes, his other hand sliding under hers with practiced ease, his fingers curling lightly around her trembling grip. “C’mere, Becks. I’ve got you.”

Tony feels the moment her hold on him falters, her hands slipping from his shirt as Bucky gently coaxes her away. There’s no resistance, only a quiet surrender as she turns toward her brother. Her movements are slow, almost hesitant, but when she finally collapses into his arms, it’s with the full weight of her grief.

Bucky pulls her close, his arms wrapping tightly around her as she buries her face against his shoulder. He leans his cheek against the top of her head, murmuring soft reassurances that Tony can’t quite make out. His hands move in soothing circles across her back, anchoring her to him.

Tony exhales, the sound shaky and uneven, as he sits back on his heels.

He should leave; he knows this, but he feels rooted to the spot.

The quiet of the room feels oppressive, broken only by Becca’s uneven breaths and the faint creak of the wind pushing through open window. Tony’s fingers twitch against his knee, the urge to do something—anything—gnawing at him. But there’s nothing to do, no easy fix, no clever quip that could make this moment any less harrowing.

His eyes drift toward the window, the cold air seeping in from its slightly warped frame. He tells himself he should get up, close it, climb out it—do anything to give them some privacy. But he doesn’t move.

Because Bucky’s eyes keep finding him.

Over Becca’s shoulder, Bucky looks at him with something unspoken, something open and unguarded that Tony doesn’t know how to interpret. It’s not an invitation, exactly, but it’s not dismissal, either. It’s something in between, a thread pulling Tony back every time his thoughts stray toward leaving.

Becca shifts slightly in Bucky’s arms, her quiet sobs giving way to hiccups as exhaustion begins to weigh her down. Her fingers clutch at Bucky’s shirt, trembling as her breaths stutter unevenly. Tony watches as Bucky presses his cheek against the top of her head, murmuring something so low that Tony can’t catch the words. But the cadence of it—the quiet, steady rhythm of Bucky’s voice—settles something fragile in the air.

Tony swallows hard, looking away to give them some semblance of privacy, though there’s nowhere else for his gaze to land. The room feels smaller than ever, the three of them compressed into this tiny, suffocating space. He lets his gaze trail back up to the ceiling. Wishing he could find answers instead of constellations full of equations and improbable variables.

Tony shifts his weight, his knees protesting the hard floor, and eventually leans back onto his palms, his body folding into the silence.

The stillness stretches, minutes bleeding into what could be hours, until Bucky’s voice finally cuts through the quiet.

“She fell asleep,” Bucky says eventually, his voice breaking through the quiet.

Tony’s head snaps back down, his gaze darting to Becca. Sure enough, her breathing has evened out, her face slack against Bucky’s chest. She looks younger somehow, smaller, and the sight makes something twist sharply in Tony’s ribcage.

Tony swallows audibly, his mouth opening and closing a few times before his gaze darts across the room.

“Yeah, no,” he says, shaking his head and blinking as his mind catches on the words. “Sure. You two take the bed. I’ll crash on Arnie’s. No big deal.”

Bucky’s expression softens. “Tony,” he says quietly. “I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.”

“It’s fine,” Tony says quickly, pushing himself up onto his feet and wincing as the feeling comes back into his legs. I have extra sheets… somewhere. Probably. And I’ve been stealing Roth’s pillow, anyway. Seems silly to drag Becca back to her room—”

“Tony.”

Tony freezes, mouth tense, a hand tugging through the messy strands on the back of his head. He looks at the Alpha.

The Bucky that Tony knows is… effortless. All easy grins and self-assured confidence.

But now, sitting on the edge of Tony’s shitty, too-small twin bed with his little sister cradled in his arms, Bucky looks different.

Tired. Resigned, maybe, or weighed down by something Tony can’t quite decipher. The lines at the corners of his eyes seem deeper, Tony’s usual favorite crooked grin replaced by a faint downturn of his lips. His broad shoulders, always so solid and unyielding, slump just slightly.

It’s disarming, Tony realizes, seeing him like this.

There’s no bravado, no easy grin to shield the cracks in his armor. He looks unpolished. Vulnerable in a way that makes Tony’s chest ache and his breath hitch.

The realization pulls something sharp and uneasy through him, and Tony’s gaze flickers away, but there’s no escape from the weight of it—or from Bucky’s scent, which hangs thick in the air now, impossible to ignore.

It’s still familiar in its warmth, still steadying in the way it grounds Tony when everything else feels too loud. But now there’s a bitter undertone curling beneath it, subtle but unmistakable—a quiet sorrow that lingers like the first sharp bite of frost before a snowstorm. It seeps into every corner of the room, clinging to Tony’s senses and wrapping around him in a way that makes his stomach twist and his throat tighten.

He inhales without meaning to, the scent pulling at something deep and instinctive, something he doesn’t want to name but can’t shove down any longer. It presses against his ribcage, heavy and unrelenting, and he feels himself teetering between the urge to offer comfort and the impossible desire to fix it, even though he knows he can’t. Not this. Not tonight.

“Tony.”

The quiet rumble of Bucky’s voice slices through the haze, steady but laced with a softness that catches Tony off guard. When he glances up, Bucky’s sharp, perceptive eyes are already locked on him, and there’s something in his gaze that makes Tony want to squirm. Concern, sure—but also something deeper, something Tony’s not ready to face.

“Stop scentin’ me,” Bucky murmurs, though the words carry no real command, only quiet insistence. His jaw tightens as he glances away, his fingers flexing gently against Becca’s back. “Didn’t mean for it to get to you. Just…” He trails off, his voice lowering as he nods slightly. “Hold on.”

Tony flinches, heat crawling up his neck. He folds his arms tightly across his chest, digging his nails into his palms. “It’s fine,” he says, too quickly, his voice sharp with defense.

Bucky doesn’t respond right away. His gaze lingers for a beat longer before he shifts his attention back to Becca. Moving with a quiet deliberateness, he adjusts her until she’s lying on the mattress, her head propped against the pillow and her small frame tucked carefully against the wall.

Tony watches in silence as Bucky leans down to slip her shoes off, his movements careful and precise, as though the slightest misstep might shatter the fragile peace they’ve built. Once Becca is settled, Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, tugging off his own boots with slow, deliberate motions.

Still, Tony doesn’t move. His feet feel like lead, his body rooted to the spot as he watches Bucky without meaning to, caught in the quiet gravity of him.

Bucky straightens, his boots landing softly on the floor beside Becca’s. His hands rest briefly on his knees, fingers flexing like he’s bracing himself for something. Then, without hesitation, he looks up at Tony and holds out his arms.

“C’mere,” Bucky says.

Tony blinks, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion. He shifts on his feet, his arms tightening across his chest. “What—”

“Just come here, doll,” Bucky says, his voice gentle but firm.

Tony hesitates, his gaze darting between Bucky’s open arms and Becca, who’s still fast asleep, her breaths slow and even. The bed is tiny. There’s barely enough room for Bucky and Becca as it is, and the thought of squeezing himself into that cramped space feels… impossible.

“Bucky,” Tony starts, his voice awkward and stilted. “There’s no room. I’ll just—”

“There’s room,” Bucky interrupts, his arms still outstretched. His expression softens, but there’s an edge of stubbornness in his tone now, the kind that always leaves Tony feeling off-balance. “You love havin’ this argument, don’t you? Just humor me.”

Tony snorts, shifting his weight uneasily. “Probably not gonna get much humor out of me tonight, Buck.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Bucky says, his lips quirking in a faint, tired smile. He nods toward the bed, his gaze steady and insistent. “Come here, baby. Please.”

The please is what gets him.

Tony swallows, the sound loud in the stillness, and finally takes a cautious step closer. “This is stupid,” he mutters, trying to inject some levity into the moment, but the words fall flat. He toes off his own shoes as he drags himself forward. “You don’t need me crowding you two all night.”

Bucky shakes his head, the smile fading into something quieter, more earnest. “I do,” he says simply. “I need you here.”

The words stop Tony in his tracks. He stares at Bucky, his mind scrambling for a witty retort, something to deflect the heaviness of what’s hanging in the air between them. But nothing comes.

Instead, he just exhales sharply and mutters, “Fine. But if I fall off the bed, I’m taking you down with me.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything at first, just reaches out and catches Tony’s wrist in a firm but gentle grip. His hand is warm, calloused, and before Tony can process what’s happening, Bucky tugs him closer—not onto the bed, not yet, but to the space between his knees where he sits on the edge of the mattress.

Tony stumbles forward, blinking in surprise. “What are you—”

“Just… hold still for a second,” Bucky murmurs, his voice low and steady.

Tony freezes, his pulse ticking sharply against his throat as Bucky’s hands reach up to the knot of his tie. The movements are deliberate, careful—nothing like the hurried, heated way Bucky had tugged at his clothes a few nights ago, impatient and hungry as he backed Tony against his desk.

The memory flares briefly, unbidden, making Tony’s face burn. He remembers Bucky’s hands then, quick and sure, undoing buttons and pulling fabric aside like it was in the way. The way his lips had followed, leaving a trail of heat against Tony’s skin, drawing soft gasps and murmured protests that neither of them had meant.

This is nothing like that.

Now, Bucky’s touch is unhurried, almost reverent as he loosens the tie from Tony’s collar. There’s no rush, no teasing smirk, no deliberate press of his body against Tony’s to ignite sparks. Just quiet, deliberate movements and a weight in Bucky’s eyes that Tony can’t quite name.

The tie slips free, and Bucky sets it aside before his hands move to the buttons of Tony’s blazer. His touch lingers briefly, just enough to make Tony’s breath hitch before the first button pops open.

“You don’t have to—” Tony starts, his voice coming out shakier than intended, but Bucky cuts him off with a soft shake of his head.

“I do,” Bucky says simply, his gaze meeting Tony’s as his hands move to the next button. “Just let me.”

Tony swallows hard, the words catching in his throat as he nods, barely perceptible. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything else, so he lets Bucky work, his hands steady as they ease the blazer from Tony’s shoulders.

The quiet intimacy of it all feels strange, too raw for Tony to handle, but he doesn’t pull away. He stands there, frozen but compliant, as Bucky folds the blazer and sets it aside with the same care he’d shown with the tie.

When Bucky’s hands settle lightly on Tony’s waist, Tony’s breath catches again, his gaze darting away. But before he can spiral too far into his own head, Bucky leans forward, pressing a kiss to Tony’s forehead.

Tony exhales shakily, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension bleeds out of him. “You’re really… something tonight,” he mutters, his voice quieter than intended.

Bucky hums faintly, his thumbs brushing lightly over Tony’s hips. “Yeah, well…” His gaze flicks to Becca, nestled behind him, her face slack in sleep. “Guess everyone’s a little off tonight.”

Tony doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. The warmth in Bucky’s voice pulls at something deep in his chest, but before he can dwell on it too long, Bucky shifts, his hands steady as he guides Tony toward the bed.

“C’mere,” Bucky says softly, his voice calm but insistent. “We’ll figure it out. Just… stay.”

Tony swallows hard, his throat tight with something unnameable, and doesn’t argue. He lets Bucky guide him, the mattress dipping under his weight as he settles hesitantly beside him. Bucky leans over and flicks off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

Tony adjusts awkwardly, curling into Bucky’s side and fisting his hand into the material of Bucky’s tear-soaked shirt. “Don’t blame me if I elbow you in my sleep,” he whispers, his tone pitched low and uncertain. The bed is small, and Tony’s already bracing himself for the inevitable fall if Becca so much as shifts.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Bucky murmurs, his hand settling lightly on Tony’s back. The touch is steady and warm, grounding Tony in a way that makes his throat tighten.

They fall into silence for a long moment, the quiet filled only by the faint hum of the radiator and the soft sound of Becca’s breathing. Tony lets his eyes adjust to the dark, his gaze flicking to the faint outline of Becca tucked against Bucky’s side. She looks smaller than usual, her face peaceful despite the tear tracks still visible on her cheeks.

“She’s tougher than she looks,” Bucky says suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness. It’s soft, but there’s a weight to it, something heavy and resigned. “Joey… he’s a good kid. I’ve known him his whole life. Never thought it’d get this serious between them, but she loves him. Always has. Since they were little.”

Tony swallows hard, unsure how to respond. He’s never met the Alpha, of course, but the way Bucky talks about him—steady and low, tinged with quiet fondness—makes him feel like more than a name on a telegram. It’s easy to picture the boy through Bucky’s eyes: the neighbor kid with a shy grin and a good heart, someone who grew up alongside Becca and earned her love in a way that feels unfairly fragile now.

“She doesn’t deserve this,” Bucky continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s just a kid. Fifteen. She should be worried about dances and sneaking out to see a picture show, not… not this.” He exhales shakily, his grip on Becca tightening slightly. “Not waiting for news that might not come.”

Tony presses his face into the crook of Bucky’s shoulder, the scent of cedar and smoke washing over him—sharp and steady, but tinged with sorrow. It anchors him and unsettles him all at once, pulling at something deep in his chest that he doesn’t know how to name.

“Yeah,” Tony mutters after a moment, his voice barely audible. “Guess not.”

Bucky’s arm tightens around him slightly, pulling him closer, and Tony doesn’t resist. He lets himself sink into the warmth and the weight, the quiet presence of the man beside him. It feels like too much and not enough all at once, but for now, it’s all he has.

“You’re good at this,” Bucky murmurs after another long pause, his voice soft and low, breaking through Tony’s spiraling thoughts.

Tony snorts faintly, though there’s no real humor in the sound. “What? Squeezing into a bed too small for three people?”

“No,” Bucky says quietly, his hand stilling briefly before resuming its slow, soothing motion. “This. Being here. Taking care of people.”

The words hit something raw and fragile inside Tony, and he stiffens slightly, his breath catching. “No,” he mutters, his voice rougher now. “I’m not.”

Bucky doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Tony’s head. His lips linger there for a moment before he rests his cheek against Tony’s hair. “You take care of me,” he murmurs, the words almost lost in the quiet. “Hey, sweetheart?” “Yeah?” Tony croaks.

“I didn’t know the two of you were friends. But… thank you. For being there for her.”

Tony bites down on the inside of his cheek and buries his face into the Alpha’s armpit to hide the warmth coloring his cheeks.

“We’re not friends. She forces me to eat breakfast with her. Steals my breakfast and cheats off my homework.”

Bucky snorts. “You don’t do ‘homework’.”

“Exactly,” Tony mumbles, his voice muffled against the soft fabric of Bucky’s shirt. “That’s how much of a menace she is. She cheats off assignments I don’t even do.”

Bucky chuckles softly, the sound a low rumble in his chest that Tony can feel more than hear. It’s warm and familiar, and for a moment, it cuts through the weight pressing down on the room. Tony’s grip on Bucky’s shirt loosens slightly, his fingers flexing before curling again, holding on like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

The darkness around them feels impossibly heavy, but it’s not suffocating. Not quite. It’s the kind of weight that settles rather than smothers, wrapping around them like a blanket too thick for the season. Tony closes his eyes, letting himself focus on the faint, steady rhythm of Bucky’s breathing, the quiet creak of the bed as it shifts under their combined weight.

“Hey, Bucky?” He says quietly.

Bucky hums. “Yeah, baby?”

Tony hesitates, his question lingering on the edge of his tongue. He knows he shouldn’t ask—knows the weight of it—but the thought has been gnawing at him for weeks. Tonight, though, with Becca curled against Bucky and Joey’s absence casting a shadow over everything, the words slip free before he can stop them.

“Why haven’t you been called up yet?”

Bucky’s hand stills, his breath catching just enough for Tony to notice. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, and for a moment, Tony regrets asking. He lifts his head slightly, glancing up at Bucky’s face. “Forget it,” Tony mutters, his voice rougher than intended. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s okay,” Bucky interrupts gently, exhaling a slow breath. His gaze shifts to the ceiling, distant and thoughtful, before it falls back to Tony. “Guess we have to talk about it, sooner rather than later.”

Tony doesn’t respond. His chest feels like it’s caving in, his lungs straining against the weight of the conversation he’s been avoiding since the beginning.

“When Ma and Dad died,” Bucky begins quietly, his voice steady but tinged with something heavier, “it was just me and Becca. She was thirteen, still a kid, and there was a pile of debts bigger than anything I’d ever seen—hospital bills, the funeral, everything they left behind. Someone had to take care of it. Someone had to take care of her.” He pauses, his jaw tightening briefly. “So when the notice came, I went down to the recruitment office and told them I wasn’t tryin’ to dodge it. Just… asking for time.”

Tony blinks, caught off guard. “They let you do that?”

Bucky shrugs faintly. “I think I got lucky. This was before things really took off. Before Japan attacked us. Maybe they took pity on me, y’know? Some kid fresh outta school, no parents, trying to hold things together for his sister. Told them I’d go if I had to, but I couldn’t leave her with nothing.”

Tony swallows hard, the image of Bucky standing in front of some indifferent bureaucrat, pleading his case with the same quiet determination that Tony’s come to know so well—it twists something deep in his chest.

“And now?” Tony asks, his voice quieter.

Bucky’s hand falters for a moment before resuming its slow, soothing rhythm. “Now our grandparents are helping. Paying for her schooling. She’s with them when she’s not here. They’re good folks. But… that doesn’t mean the clock’s not ticking.” He lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “I’m on borrowed time, Tony. Just waitin’ for the day the letters start coming again.”

Something in Tony’s stomach lurches. It feels like dread, but heavier.

Anguish.

There’s no point in masking it. He knows Bucky can smell it.

Bucky doesn’t say anything right away. His hand continues its steady rhythm on Tony’s back, grounding and patient, giving Tony the space to sort through the tangled mess of his emotions. But Tony can feel the Alpha’s gaze on him, sharp and searching even in the darkness.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to dump this on you,” Bucky says softly after a long stretch of silence. His voice is quiet, apologetic in a way that twists something deeper in Tony’s chest. “Not tonight. Not…like this.”

Tony snorts faintly, though there’s no humor in it. “What’s one more thing to worry about?” he mutters, his voice muffled against the fabric of Bucky’s shirt. “Might as well pile it on.”

“Hey.” Bucky’s hand stills briefly before resuming its soothing motion, firmer now, as though trying to ease the tension out of Tony’s frame. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Tony asks, his tone sharper than he intends. “Be realistic?”

“Minimize this,” Bucky counters gently, his fingers brushing against the back of Tony’s neck. “You’re allowed to feel this, Tony. You don’t have to… bury it.”

Tony scoffs, though the sound comes out weaker than he’d like. “Yeah, well. In my experience, burying my crap tends to work better than facing it.”

He doesn’t have to elaborate. Bucky knows what “it” is. The war. The draft. The inevitability of Bucky’s name coming up, of the letters arriving, of him being sent off to fight in a war that’s swallowing up everything and everyone in its path.

Tony shifts abruptly, pulling away from Bucky’s warmth and turning onto his side, his back facing him. He doesn’t want to look at him, doesn’t want to see the weight in those steel-grey eyes, the resignation that’s already settled in. It feels too much like an ending, and Tony doesn’t know how to hold that in his chest without breaking apart.

“I don’t want you to go.”

The confession trembles in the air, so quiet and raw that Tony isn’t even sure Bucky heard him. His voice cracks on the last word, the sound splintering like glass, and Tony clamps his mouth shut, biting down on the inside of his cheek to stop anything else from spilling out.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then, the mattress dips, and Tony feels the warmth of Bucky shifting closer behind him. A hand brushes lightly against his shoulder, hesitant, before sliding around his waist. Bucky’s arm wraps around him, pulling him back against the solid warmth of his chest. The weight is steady, grounding, and Tony’s breath catches as he feels Bucky press his forehead gently against the back of his neck.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs, his voice low and heavy with something Tony can’t name. “I know.”

Tony squeezes his eyes shut tighter, his body stiff in Bucky’s embrace.

He can’t help but think of the last time they’d been tangled together in bed—only a few nights ago, at the tail end of his heat, when the world had felt far away and distant. Bucky’s bed had been too warm, their limbs intertwined, Tony too boneless and content to care about anything beyond the four walls of the bedroom.

He thinks of the lazy, indulgent smile on Bucky’s face, the way his mouth had trailed patterns down Tony’s bare shoulder, both of them sticky with sweat but too relaxed to do anything about it. They’d talked about nothing and kissed endlessly, the kind of careless behavior that felt safe because the world outside hadn’t crept in yet. Tony’s heart had been full that morning, his body humming with the comfort of Bucky’s scent and the warmth of his skin.

Now, the bed feels cold despite the heat of Bucky’s body against him. There’s no teasing, no smirk, no lazy contentment. Just the weight of what’s coming and the words they can’t take back.

“You don’t—” Tony’s voice falters, breaking apart before he can finish. “You don’t know what it’s like. To be left behind.”

To be cast aside by everyone you know.

Bucky exhales softly, the sound shaky in a way that makes Tony’s stomach twist. “You’re right,” he says quietly. “I don’t. And I’m so damn sorry that you have to feel this. That Becca has to feel this.” His arm tightens slightly, his hand resting against Tony’s side. “But you’re never gonna be alone in this, okay? I need you to know that.”

Tony doesn’t answer, doesn’t trust himself to. His throat feels like it’s closing up, his chest aching as he fights to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Bucky’s scent surrounds him—heady and incensed, still tinged with that quiet sorrow that makes Tony’s heart hurt—and it pulls at something deep and instinctive inside him, something that makes him want to stay wrapped in this moment forever.

“You don’t have to do this,” Tony whispers finally, his voice barely audible. He knows he’s being unreasonable. Petulant. Selfish. “You don’t have to go.”

Bucky’s breath catches, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then, his hand moves, his fingers brushing lightly over Tony’s side in a way that’s both comforting and devastating. “I do,” he says softly. “You know I do.”

Tony clenches his jaw, his hands fisting in the sheets as he presses his face against the pillow. He doesn’t want to accept it. He doesn’t want to think about it. But the reality of it looms too large, too undeniable, and it feels like it’s swallowing him whole.

Bucky shifts closer, his arm tightening around Tony as if he’s trying to hold him together. “Listen to me,” he murmurs, his voice steady despite the ache that lingers there. “I’ll come back. No matter what, I’ll come back to you. You have my word.”

“You can’t promise that,” Tony mutters, his voice thick with barely restrained emotion. “No one can.”

“I can,” Bucky insists, his voice firm but gentle. “And I am. You hear me? I’m coming back, Tony. I swear it.”

The words hang in the air between them, heavy and fragile, and Tony wants so badly to believe him. But all he can do is nod, the motion small and uncertain, as he lets himself sink back into the warmth of Bucky’s embrace. His breathing is uneven, his heart racing in his chest, but he doesn’t pull away. He stays there, pressed against Bucky, and lets the Alpha hold him like he’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

Bucky’s hand moves again, slow and deliberate, tracing soothing circles against Tony’s side.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs softly, the words barely more than a whisper. “I’ve got you, Tony.”

And for now, in this quiet, fragile moment, it’s enough.

Tony doesn’t recall falling asleep; the crushing weight of his thoughts must have eventually dragged him under.

He wakes before dawn, the pale light creeping into the room, casting everything in a faint gray haze. The mattress beneath him is too warm, crowded with too many bodies. Becca is still curled up against the wall, her face slack in sleep, while Bucky’s arm remains slung protectively around Tony’s waist, holding him in place.

Tony untangles himself with slow, deliberate movements, careful not to wake either of them. He doesn’t look back as he slips out of bed, his bare feet cold against the linoleum floor. His mind is already racing as he pulls on his blazer, though his tie remains slung carelessly over the back of his chair. He doesn’t need to be presentable for what he’s about to do. Just… prepared.

The hallways are eerily silent at this hour, the oppressive quiet broken only by the soft creak of Tony’s footsteps. The early morning chill seeps into his skin, but he doesn’t care. His destination is clear, and his purpose even clearer.

Byron Tompkins’s office door is closed when Tony reaches it, the plaque on the wood catching the dim light. Tony doesn’t bother knocking. He grips the handle, twists, and pushes the door open with enough force that it smacks against the wall, rattling the frames hung with awards and irrelevant accolades.

The headmaster is seated at his desk, his glasses perched low on his nose as he reviews the morning paper. He jumps at the sudden intrusion, his head snapping up, and the color drains from his face when he sees who’s standing in the doorway.

“Mr. Stark,” Tompkins says sharply, though his voice wavers. “What on earth—”

“Becca Barnes is excused from finals,” Tony announces, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him.

Tompkins blinks, caught off guard by the bluntness of the statement. “Excuse me?” he says, recovering enough to feign authority. “Christ—you don’t have the authority to make that call, Stark.”

“Don’t I?” Tony’s voice is calm, almost bored. “She received a telegram last night. She’s grieving, you absolute cretin. Do you expect her to sit through exams and recite poetry while her world is falling apart?”

Tompkins clears his throat, clearly flustered. “This is an institution, Stark. We have protocols—”

“To hell with your protocols, Byron,” Tony snaps. He steps closer, his gaze narrowing. “Here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to phone her grandparents and explain the situation. Tell them to come pick her up. She’s excused from finals, and she’s excused from the rest of the term.”

Tompkins glares, his indignation flickering behind a thin veneer of control. “You don’t get to decide that, Omega.”

“Don’t I?” Tony’s lips curl into a faint, humorless smile, and he leans forward, planting his hands on the headmaster’s desk. “You know who my father is. You know what he could do with a single phone call. Do you really want to test me on this?”

Tony won’t test this. He’s completely bluffing. His father wouldn’t give a shit.

But the threat works, anyway. It’s worked for two years.

Tompkins visibly swallows, his eyes darting away as the weight of the unspoken threat settles over him.

“She’s a child,” Tony hisses. “A grieving child who doesn’t need some bureaucratic leech like you making her life harder. And while you’re at it, write a note excusing her from every last responsibility she’s got. Outstanding assignments, obligations, whatever else you pencil-pushers are dreaming up to make kids here miserable. She’s done."

The headmaster shifts uncomfortably, his shoulders sagging as he realizes he’s lost. “Fine,” he mutters reluctantly, his voice tight with frustration. “I’ll… make the call.”

"Fabulous."

Tompkins scowls as he reaches for the phone on his desk. Tony doesn’t leave until the first dial tone sounds, ensuring that the man follows through.

As he steps back into the hallway, the burden in his ribs doesn't lift; it just shifts. For a moment, he stands still, his gaze fixed ahead, his jaw tight, like he’s daring the weight of the morning to press harder.

The faint hum of the headmaster’s voice drifts from the office, low and reluctant as the call begins. Tony doesn’t turn back. He doesn’t need to. The message has already been delivered, the balance of power tilted just enough to leave Tompkins scrambling to save face.

He exhales slowly, his breath sharp in the quiet, and begins walking again. His steps echo in the empty corridor, steady but heavy, like each one carries the weight of something he can’t shake.

There’s no satisfaction in the victory—only the dull ache of inevitability settling deeper.

Lodging itself firmly into his chest.

#winteriron #bucky barnes #tony stark #wip #ao3 #steve rogers #alpha/beta/omega au #captain america #ao3fic #tony stark x bucky barnes

65 notes · View notes

the-midnight-blooms · 1 year ago

Text

DRUNKEN MONOLOGUE | kjh

masterlist

Trope: Friends to Lovers to Strangers

She watches as they walk out of their place with another woman slung around his arm. The woman he left for, she's so perfect she cannot help but agree with him when he declared he did not love her anymore. How could he? She was everything his first love was not- no more, no less. Yet, the place she once held in his heart? Gone, not even deserving of the title 'friend', displaced like the weakest metal in a chemical reaction.

She didn't mean to cross Hongjoong on the street anyway, on her way home from a taxing day at work her feet took her to the one place that brought her more comfort than home. Second to the bookshop, it was his arms. She was entitled to none of it now. Nights of endless scrolling over the internet for the next best cheapest place to buy novels but nothing came close to the bookshop she’d gone to in the duration of her childhood, the same bookshop that supported her through her academia.

The distant memory of them both scribbling away in books, endlessly typing on their computers for hours on end into the night gnawed at her. At times she felt like giving up, why, oh, why had she chosen such an academically challenging degree? For her parents’ validation of course, despite this Hongjoong supported her-pushed her to continue.

“I can’t be bothered anymore Joong.” She whined into her pillow, letting out a loud groan that made him scoff as he twirled the pencil between his fingers.

“Let’s make a deal, you get over 80 on that exam and I’ll buy you that plain vanilla ice cream you like.” Her eyes perked up at ‘vanilla ice cream’ she shook her head vigorously and then got to work sifting through pages of her notes and exam questions she had yet to do. Peering her eyes over the top of her screen, she gazed at her best friend hunched over in his seat punching numbers into a calculator, with furrowed brows, the concentrated look on his face making her heart melt. While they had been best friends for a long time, she had harboured feelings for the boy since college and even through their transgression into university, the feelings just never seemed to dissipate.

“Oh, and Hongjoong-nah? Vanilla ice cream is not plain.”

“Whatever you say, love.” The term of endearment making her heart flutter, she had yet to convince herself that he called everyone ‘love’, hence it was never really special when he said it to her. A week had passed and before she knew it, she sprinted down the university halls, clusters of students who were once engrossed in their own conversations turning to look at her. With a panting breath, she skidded at the end of the corridor shoving her sheet of paper in Hongjoong’s face, he himself was once invested in his conversation with Jongho.

“Look” she urged, and he took the paper from her hands his eyes scanning over it, fixating on the mark. 90.

“That’s amazing! Didn’t you say this was the hardest module too?” Shaking her head eagerly, she threw her head back in triumph. Hongjoong sought the way her hair fell down her shoulders, the sound of laughter like a melody he wanted to capture in a tune and play on repeat. “Well, I guess I owe you ice cream now.” Picking up his canvas bag from the floor, he bid Jongho goodbye and made his way to the exit.

“Do you want to come with us Jongho?” She offered, to which the younger boy declined sending Hongjoong a knowing smirk from across the corridor. Shaking his head, Hongjoong waited until she made her way to him then hand in hand, they ran to the ice cream parlour before it closed.

She didn’t like vanilla ice cream anymore. It wasn’t the plainness of it, like Hongjoong had always suggested. It was the memory of it, the association of it with him. Every book they read, song they listened to, food they ate, place they went to-she’d grown to have a distaste for. It seemed pathetic, and it was but every time their song played on the radio a pang settled into deepest pits of her heart.

Drunken men push past her on the same street, where now Hongjoong and her stand two metres apart. He senses familiarity in the air around him, head whipping around scouring his surroundings. He knows them. They shift around slowly, as if they are moving without conscience towards him. He wants to stumble to them, inebriated by their intimacy as he once was when he sauntered through his hallways, years ago heavily drunk from a work celebration party. Hongjoong's dragged away by his girlfriend, every nook and cranny of his heart filled with adoration for her yet long ago he was being dragged away by someone else.

With a heavy puff, she pushed Hongjoong onto his sofa a long groan released from his lips as he lazily outstretched his legs before him. So drawn by her beauty, he lifts his arm to caress her cheek. With a smile she gently brushes it away, moving his leg to sit on the remnants of the seat that is not covered by his body.

"The things I do for you." she muttered under his breath, he caught the whispers of it, a weary smile forms across his perfect features.

"And I love you for it. I love you more than sea loves the moon." A laugh escaped from her lips, could he get any more drunk?

"Just say thank you, Hongjoong. This isn't a poetry reading." Shaking her head, she pats his head before getting up. The words strike a nerve, he grabs at her wrist to steal her attention. Suddenly, he looks more attentive and alive as if he wasn't drinking to his hearts content to fill up the hole of solitude that swallowed him.

"I'm being serious." Resting her hand his chest to feel the racing of his heart, "This only beats for you. I feel so lonely without you, incomplete." he breathed out, latching onto her hand as if she would disappear if he let her go.

"Hongjoong, you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying." A sharp prick of her throat throbbed, a tickle arising in her nose. Love was just a game to him, right?

"They say a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts."

"I wouldn't believe you, even if you were sober."

"Why not?" He inquired, he sat up this time not letting go of her hand her body gravitating towards him.

"Because- you know what, no you're too drunk for this conversation right now."

"No, I wanna know. Why don't you believe me?"

"Hongjoong, you've never wanted a relationship. You've never wanted to be someone else's. I always have, I want to belong to someone. I want to get married and have children, bicker with my husband, listen to my teenagers' tantrums. I want it all. You don't." She recounted from all the times he had dismissed notions of settling down and having a married life. He'd fraternised with many women, much to her dismay, but those relationships had held no true meaning. They were in his bed one hour and gone the next, replaced by another. Truthfully, Hongjoong never felt content with the 'relationships' he had but the slow, sinking feeling he felt when he was devoid of completeness ate at him. He wanted to feel whole and he felt whole with her.

"What if it's because I've never wanted it with anyone but you?" Silence rooted in the warm air; she'd open his window before she left. Nothing but staring into each other’s eyes for minutes on end. Hongjoong awaited her response, it was all the alcohol that had riled so much energy within to confess his feelings to her. Those which he had felt since they were children, teasing each other in the playground to adults fixated over creating contented lives for themselves.

"Then tell me when you wake up. Tell me how much you've wanted me. Once I'm yours, I'm yours forever."

It seemed like it would be forever. Nights spent under the cover of the twinkling stars: talking until they were too sleep deprived to go to work, running through the park tearing out handfuls of grass whilst chucking them at each other. Just all the things they did as friends, but the moments much more intimate when they'd fall on top of each other faces barely inches away feeling their heated breath tickling their noses.

“I hope our kids aren’t that naughty.” She almost spat out the drink in her mouth, craning to give Hongjoong a shocked look paired with a sort of shy smile forming on her lips. They sat on the vast lush green field, sun beaming down on their figures- his figure illuminated like it was it was carved out of the sun itself.

“Our kids?” Hongjoong tore his gaze away from the children shooting their parents with water guns to her, nodding ever so casually.

“Four kids-,”

“Four? Mr Kim, will you be giving birth to these children? Will you be waking up in the middle of the night to change their nappies?” She interrupted, holding back a laugh.

“Yes, I’ll change all of their nappies. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night to rock them back to sleep. Take them to school anymore, brush our daughters’ hair. Oh! We have to have matching family outfits…” And so Hongjoong often rambled about the perfect family life, his lover staring at him as if he was an angel descended from the highest heavens. If he was an angel, how did wound himself on earth no less how did he wound up as hers? To have that thought again, to stare into his eyes and get intoxicated by the profundity of his sweet soul. His love so addicting she woke up with cold sweats, hands outstretched as if he would come to her in the cold dead of the night, encircling her into his arms again as if he never left.

“What should we name our daughter?” Hongjoong piped up one day, out of sheer curiosity. His head stuck through the doorway of the living room, watching his lover sat in front of the television but her attention attached to the book in her hands.

“Hmm, Kim…” she trailed off, thinking of all the girl names her friends had already taken up. “Kim Dahye.” She settled on, he slumped onto the seat next to her resting his head on her shoulder. "Because she'll be the kindest soul to exist. And if we have a boy, we'll name him Kim Suho, our guardian angel."

"Sounds like a plan Mrs Kim." A blush crept on her cheeks, her cheek resting on his head hands entwined as the hum of the machine bled into the comfortable silence of the room.

She couldn’t remember how it had happened. What great sin had she committed that Hongjoong felt so repulsed by the sight of her? As if staying would have killed him. Despite the busy hours of both of their working days, the tiresome repetitive life of their schedules, for a while they found comfort in each other- they were each other’s escape from the dreaded conformity to society. How had it gone unnoticed the way he cancelled on her a number of times. Ignoring her calls, leaving her messages on read? The distance between them whenever they were together. Holding her hands but not looking at her. Looking at her as she spoke about her day but not listening to her. It was tolerance, really, she’d put up with all of his ignorance as long as she could say ‘he’s mine.’

“We need to talk.” His reticent voice drifting into her bedroom, she sat up from her slumped position. A soft smile painted on her lips, how long had it been since she had been the listener and he was the talker? He slumped down on the foot of her bed, gradually meeting her gaze. A breath hitched in his throat. He loved her once. He could not breathe without her. Got drunk on her presence. Then he had met her, the other woman. She was a drug so addicting. Suddenly, his childhood love was a weak narcotic incapable of exhilarating him as she once did. "I don't love you anymore." He went straight for the punchline.

"I-what happened? Why?" She questioned, there was so much more to ask but the words clogged up her throat as her brain scrambled for traction trying to process the sudden declaration. His eyes shut close for a few moments, plucking up the courage to tell her.

"I found someone else. I thought it unfair to keep you here, next to me while I'm hooked to someone else." Tears blurred her vision, limbs shivering. Pressing her back up against her headboard, she hugged her legs, face dug between her knees.

"What happened to feeling incomplete without me? What happened to wanting to be married? What happened to having children?" Fury overtook the despair that momentarily possessed her, was it all a fever dream? Was any part of their relationship sincere?

"Believe me when I say I wanted it all with you, but now I can't feel a thing between us. The bridge to you has collapsed-" He reached for hands to console her; she yanked them towards her gripping onto skin too reluctant to let go. Any moment now if she did let go, he would leave.

"So then find another way to me. Fight for us. Don't tell me this relationship was just a drunken mistake, or I was just used to fill that sorry hole in your heart."

Perhaps I really was lonely and you were there for me, mistaking my gratitude for love.

But Hongjoong was misinterpreting his emotions. It was love. He did love her. He had just been allured by someone else's physicality that he had forgotten that the one woman who loved him endlessly, flaws and all, was sat in front of him.

"Don't make this harder for me. You deserve someone else, someone who wants you as equally as you want them." Biting down on her lip, a tear slipped from her eyes snapping her head away from him as his hands left her weakened hold. Soundlessly, he left from the room. The soft shutting of the door had triggered her, she bawled as a part of her soul crippled away trailing after Hongjoong who ambled down the street to his next love.

Her body thudded against another on that busy street as the sun dipped beneath the sky, streetlights flickering every now and then. So lost in her yearning for the past, her spatial awareness had been decapitated.

"Oh God, I'm sorry." Her phone flung out of her grasp, clattering to the floor. Both figures reached down for the phone, fingers meeting as they did. Grabbing at her phone, she rose so did the other figure in sync. "I'm really sorry, I should have watched where I was going-" He called out her name, their eyes instantaneously meeting.

It was Wooyoung, a fellow classmate from her time at university. He did not look any different from the charismatic soul that had cheered her up after every difficult lecture that seemed incomprehensible. A dimpled smile manifested across his pink lips, the familiar excitement of seeing an old friend filling him.

"I haven't seen you in ages! How are you?" He began to bombard her with questions. Within seconds she was, too, dragged away by another in the opposite direction the strings between the old lovers, thinning as they transcended deeper into the own lives.

A high-pitched squeal infiltrated the park, a small body dashing through the familiar fields.

“I’m gonna get you.” She cooed, in an infantile like manner as the child attempted to sprint as fast as his little legs could carry him. At last, she swooped him up by the legs, twirling him around the cool wind assisting her. They shared a laugh before she attacked his face with kisses. His father approached behind, wide smile complacent slipping an arm around his son, cocooning him in his embrace. The boy squirmed in his father’s arms, begging to be let go. He let him go, the couple dawdling after his child as he ran to the slides accompanying the other children inhabiting it.

“The sentence, from Mrs Jung?” She contested. She recalled the horror in her friend’s voice on learning that both her husband and son were indulging in eating sweet delicacies every night before bed-not even bothering to brush their teeth at that.

“Death.” He joked back, they shared a comfortable laugh. “Joae’s coming back from Japan on Sunday. Thank you for helping take care of Gohyun.” She waved him off declaring it was the most she could do for a friend that was there when she needed someone the most.

At the other end of the park, two old friends walked down a cobbled path on their way to the play area where Hongjoong’s daughter persisted. Cups of warm coffee encased within their hands, conversations of the past enticing them. They both paused as they found his daughter, Kim Dayhe, playing with another boy around a similar age to her. The sight brought back a nostalgic memory of the girl he used to run around parks with as a child.

“Jung Gohyun!” A feminine voice called, a figure moved closer to the children, she sent a soft smile to the girl before kneeling down to tighten her loosening pigtails. Hongjoong moved forward, despite the woman’s pure intentions his protective instincts broke through—Jongho following hastily behind eyes widening as he recognised the woman.

“Thank you, Unnie-,”

“Dahye,” Her head snapped up from the children, the acquaintance of the voice tearing the boundaries she’d built between them for years on end. The memories flooding back to her, she almost stumbled back at the sight of him; she clutched onto her Gohyun’s shoulder for strength. Her lips formed his name, but no sound came out. Hongjoong’s own eyes widened.

His childhood love.

“I haven’t seen you in years! How are you?” He questioned, as if the last time he spoke to her wasn’t in her bedroom, telling her he didn’t love her anymore. That his heart was tied down to another woman, who he felt more complete with, than he had ever felt with her.

“I’m great! Is she your daughter?” Hongjoong nodded proudly.

“This is your son?” She froze, unable to speak. Eventually, she shook her head no.

“No, he's Wooyoung’s son actually. He’s here, somewhere...” Tearing her gaze away from Hongjoong, who was somewhat surprised at the revelation, she trailed off scanning the park for her companion, who was jogging over to the reunion-two tiny bodies respectively hiding behind their close adults.

“Long time no see.” Jongho quipped from behind Hongjoong. With a gasp, she rushed to Jongho embracing him into a warm hug whilst terrorising him with questions all the same- Hongjoong slightly gaping at them with, a brief unsettling feeling in his heart.

“Jung Wooyoung, you bastard! It’s been ages!" Her hands flung to her nephew's ears, as did Hongjoong’s, as the profanity shamelessly sprung out of Jongho’s mouth.

“I love you too!” The university friends reunited, Wooyoung encompassing both Hongjoong and Jongho. Sneakily, the children had taken the opportunity to crawl back to the slides. While Jongho and Wooyoung conversed with each other, Hongjoong sought his old childhood friend, looking down at her feet in contemplation.

"You named her Dahye." She exhaled; a whiff of distress reminiscent in her tone. He nodded, slowly.

"So, no children, no husband?" As always Hongjoong went straight for the punchline but there wasn't really any other way going about it. If Gohyun was not her child, nor Wooyoung her husband then who did she have waiting for her at home?

"No. We're not all entitled to that kind of life."

"But it's all you've ever wanted." He pondered, the words blurting from his mouth before he could stop them. He was met with a hard stare but she returned her gaze back to her feet. "I mean, no one at all?"

When the one I wanted left me, how could I seek another?

It wasn't that she had not tried at all, she'd been on many dates with many men. Lots of Wooyoung's friends, Johae's friends, some guys on dating apps she'd installed for the thrill of it but none had the compassion that she desired or none had wanted to date for marriage. She'd be lying if she said she didn't at least look for the smallest trace of Hongjoong in them all.

“Just Dahye or?”

“A three-month year-old boy, Kim Suho.” Perhaps that was enough to break all the progress she had made over the years, the bridge of her nose tingled but she refused to be vulnerable in front of him again. The tight threads that had lazily sewed her heart together ripping, the misery she had once been suffering from breaking through again. The universe really had no remorse left for her.

“I’m proud of you, Hongjoong. You finally settled down and I’m sure you’re a great father.” She retorted. What else could she say? As much as she wanted to, she could not scream or cry. Or shout and swear. Tell him how much he had broken her and when he left her home, mercilessly on that solemn evening many years ago she had not been the same. She could not tell him how cruel it was that he named his children the same names that she had planned. How much it hurt her that she wasn’t the mother of his children, like he used to claim he wanted her to be. Or rather that she wasn’t the mother of any child since no man could love her in the ways she wanted to be loved. She called for Gohyun, the little boy tottering over to her. Clutching his small hand within hers, she brushed past Hongjoong to bid Jongho goodbye. Finally, across the park, she arched her neck to take a last look at Hongjoong. They marvelled at each other, before the universe could separate them once and for all.

I knew you once. I loved you once, held you in my arms and you promised you wouldn’t let me go. The memory of me so faint like there wasn’t a day that went by when you promised me that you would make me yours.

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: ahhh the second fic in the angst series! I’m a bit iffy on the ending but let me know what you guys think? good? bad? ugly? May edit later. thank you to my love @n0v4t33z for helping me decide regardless! The cold persists unfortunately, but so do I. I'll try to squeeze in another fic before I lock into exam mode but I think it's just best to let the ideas marinate at this point. Still gonna be active on tumblr so reach out to me!! Hope you enjoyed this fic!

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

#kim hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #kpop #ateez x reader #ateez #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #choi jongho #jung wooyoung

173 notes · View notes

hyperactively-me · 2 years ago

Note

Gurlll. What if another big royal comes up to ghost and says basically ‘how much for ur queen’ … basically wanting to buy her off of ghost ? And he says she’s not for sale but he says “everything has a price”. Maybe he’s been stalking her and tells ghost that he knows her schedule and what she likes.

After that graves chapter I need more DRAMA and more borderline feral and protective ghost

oomph the dramaaa (also don’t mind me making up random ass characters and random ass places for this hahahaahaha)

warnings: time-period typical misogyny, stalking, man being a creep, physical violence

A new trade deal was being signed today, and a big one at that. You had been informed that an entourage of court members from a neighboring kingdom would be staying in Kastron during the duration of the final deal talks and signage.

The arrival of King Valerian of Malcenite and his high-ranking entourage had been a spectacle you had greeted with the utmost politeness and grace. Simon had stressed the importance of the trade deal for Kastron, and you had been on your best behavior throughout their stay, despite a nagging sense that something was amiss. The trade deal was signed multiple days ago, much to everyone’s relief. Yet, for some odd reason, they’ve shown no signs of packing up to leave, even after already being in Kastron for over a week.

“It’s been a week, and the trade deal has already been signed, what more do they want from us?” you whisper to Simon with a furrowed brow. “Their presence is starting to become…overbearing.”

He nods in agreement. Simon’s eyes reflect the same unease that gripped you. “I know, love. It’s rather odd…They’ve never given me reason to doubt them.”

“We should find out what Valerian wants, Si. I mean, it’s really bothering me—”

Simon placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, interrupting your words. “You should get some rest. Let me deal with Valerian, dove.”

Your heart ached with concern, but you knew Simon was right. The weight of your responsibilities of the week had taken its toll, and you were exhausted.

“Please,” he urges you.

With a reluctant nod, you allow him to take charge of the situation.

“Fine…but let me know if you need me for moral support. You know how I can get during arguments,” you say playfully, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“I know all too well, love.”

As you retreat to your chambers, the unease that had settled over the palace refused to dissipate. As you slipped into bed, thoughts of King Valerian’s ominous intentions gnawed at your mind, but you trusted in Simon's abilities to handle the matter.

As Simon shut the doors to your chambers, he signaled for two guards to stand watch at the door. With that, he moved swiftly to find King Valerian.

. . .

Ghost had found Valerian out in the gardens. The moonless sky felt oppressive, the air thick with tension.

King Ghost faced King Valerian with an air of authority that matched his regal presence. Valerian's calculating eyes bore into Simon's, their unspoken conflict echoing within the stone walls. He wore a cloak of arrogance, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling confidence.

“King Valerian,” Ghost began, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of authority, "we appreciate your visit and the successful trade agreement we've reached. However, I must ask about the purpose of your extended stay in Kastron.”

Valerian's lips curled into a sly smile, his fingers grazing over a bush of flowers. Your favorite flowers. “Your concern is touching, King Ghost. I assure you, my presence is simply a desire to further strengthen the bonds between our kingdoms.”

Simon's gaze remained unwavering, his suspicion growing by the second. “Forgive me, but your continued stay has raised questions among my advisors and my wife. We find it unusual.”

Valerian leaned forward, picking a flower from the bush, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “Very well, King Ghost, I shall be forthright with you. The trade deal, as successful as it was, was not the only reason for my visit. There is something else I desire from Kastron.”

Simon's brow furrowed, his patience wearing thin. “And what might that be?”

Valerian's eyes glittered with a dangerous intent. “Your queen. I have watched her closely during my time here, and I have become enamored with her grace and beauty. Not to mention her fiery personality. It’s not quite fit for a woman, but I can always fix that. I believe she deserves better, far beyond what you can offer.”

Simon feels like his heart has stopped beating. “Excuse me?” he replied with icy resolve, no longer worried about offending Valerian.

Valerian chuckles darkly, bringing the flower up to his nose. “The queen. How much for her?”

Simon's fingers curled into fists at his side, his voice firm and resolute. “My wife is not a thing. She is not for sale. How fucking dare you.”

Simon's chest heaved with the effort of restraining his fury, and his clenched fists trembled with the pent-up anger he held within. He approaches Valerian angrily, sizing him up with a deathly glare.

Valerian's smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. “Everything has a price, even loyalty.”

“I know her schedule, her preferences,” Valerian continues, emphasizing the flower in his hand. Your favorite. “I've followed her every move. All you need to do is name your price.”

In a flash, Simon unleashed his anger in a single, powerful blow. With a swift and precise motion, he delivered a sucker punch straight to Valerian's face. The blow sent the arrogant man stumbling backward, crashing into the nearby garden wall.

“Get the fuck out of my home. Deal is off. Never fuckin’ show your face here again, disgusting bastard.”

Valerian, nursing his bruised face, was forcibly escorted back into the palace by Ghost.

“You know I can do much, much, worse than a single punch. Don’t fuckin’ cross me. Don’t fuckin’ come near my wife and I ever again.”

Ghost showed no mercy, manhandling Valerian in front of the palace guards, who looked on with a mix of shock and confusion.

Simon shoves Valerian forward harshly into the hands of a couple of guards.

“Take this bastard out of my sight. I want him gone. Now. He’s unwelcome in Kastron.”

. . .

Inside the palace, Valerian's actions had been made known. Rumors always spread like wildfires throughout the palace staff, and none were willing to lift a finger to help him pack. Simon had made it clear that Valerian was not to set foot in the palace again, and the guards at the gate had orders to keep him out at all costs.

“I do not want the queen to find out about this blatant disrespect from palace rumors. Go about your work.”

. . .

Simon’s fury began to subside, replaced by a deep concern for you. He knew he needed to speak with you about the incident before the palace gossip reached your ears.

Simon quickly made his way to your shared private chambers, where you were engrossed in some needlepoint. Knocking softly on the door, he entered to find you hunched over in your sitting chair, your brow furrowed in concentration. You had recently taken an interest in learning needlepoint, taking time to practice simple designs in your spare time. You look up for a moment, but go back to focusing on your work. You do a double take when you notice the worry in his expression.

“What’s wrong?” you inquire, your voice gentle but tinged with concern.

Simon sighed deeply and closed the door behind him, anger still coursing through him. “I…I have some…unsettling news, darling.”

You immediately perk up, setting your needlepoint aside, focusing your attention on Simon.

“Go on,” you say, worry building up in your chest.

As he recounted his encounter with Valerian, your expression shifted from curiosity to a mix of pure anger and disbelief. You stood up with a start, face pinched with hostility. You grab Simon’s dominant hand, the one he had punched Valerian with, and inspected his knuckles. Bruised. You drop his hand and look at him.

“How dare he,” your voice trembles with indignation, your eyes blazing with determination.

Your fingers clenched into fists, mirroring the wrath that had overtaken you. “I will not tolerate this impertinence,” you declare, your voice resolute. “To think that he would even entertain the notion of buying me like, like some piece of property. He will fucking rue the day he ever uttered those words.”

And with that, you swiftly make your way towards the double doors, throwing the doors open with a resounding slam.

Simon watched in silence as you threw the doors open. Who was he to stop his angry wife? No, he would see this out. He knew that you were not one to be trifled with, especially when it came to matters of respect and dignity.

The palace corridors echoed your footsteps as you strode with purpose, and Simon hurried to catch up to you. He also was not about to let you be alone with Valerian.

“Darling—”

You didn’t pause or slow down as Simon called after you. Your determination to confront Valerian had taken hold of you, and you were not about to let this insult go unanswered. Simon quickly follows behind you, slightly nervous to see how this would pan out.

You turn to a palace guard standing alongside a wall. “Where is he?”

“Th– the parlor room, your majesty, he’s about to leave—”

In a flash, you change directions, marching towards the parlor room where Valerian was currently being kept under guard. As you approached the doors to the parlor room, you could hear the hushed whispers and see the curious glances of the palace attendants. Two guards stood in front of the doors.

“Step aside, please,” you command, hands coming to rest on your hips.

The guards look at you for a moment, then at Simon standing behind you menacingly.

“Your majesty, he is dangerous—”

“I wasn’t asking.”

They look at you, then step aside, pushing the door open for you. You practically stomp inside the room, anger rolling off you in waves. Valerian, who had been sitting alone in a corner, looked up with a mixture of surprise and unease as you entered the room. The air grew tense with anticipation as you faced him, your eyes flashing with anger.

“You!” you declared, your voice carrying the weight of authority. “How dare you insult us?”

Simon raises his eyebrows at your forwardness, but chooses to stay silent, crossing his arms over his chest. Valerian eyes Simon wearily before facing you. Despite being confronted by your fury, he couldn't resist the urge to maintain his arrogance. He rose from his seat slowly, deliberately. You don’t back away.

“Insult you?” he retorted. “Oh, my dear queen, it was merely a business proposition. I thought perhaps you might appreciate the opportunity to upgrade from this provincial life.”

Simon immediately takes a few steps forward, anger seeping back into his bones. He couldn’t bear to see him speak to you in such a way. But, ever steadfast, you persevere. Your fists clenched at his ignorance, and your anger surged anew. Simon watched with growing amusement, knowing that Valerian's arrogance was pushing you to your limit.

“How deluded you must be,” Valerian continued, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “To think Ghost could satisfy your desires with his meager offerings.”

The room seemed to vibrate with tension as you struggled to contain your rage. Your eyes locked onto Valerian’s, and in a flash, you lashed out. Your fist connected with his jaw with a satisfying thud. Nowhere near close to Simon’s force, but it was yours.

“Yeah, thought a weak woman such as myself wouldn’t retaliate?”

Valerian's smirk vanished as he held his aching jaw, shock overtaking his features. The room fell into stunned silence, the guards wide-eyed at the unexpected turn of events. Simon suppressed a smirk, he couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for you, who had defended not only her own honor but also his own. Fuckin’ hell.

You march up to Valerian and grab his ear, yanking him down to your level. “My husband has been nothing but kind to me. Your suggestions of him being incompetent and a monster is far from the truth. He is one of the most loyal and honorable people I know. You’ll never be a third of the man Simon is. And I'm not a piece of meat for you to enjoy, you sick freak.” You let go of his ear. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my husband.”

And with that, you turn out of the room. Simon stands there, gives Valerian a once over, then turns out of the room in silence.

Simon turns to a couple of guards. “It’s time for him to leave. Remove him from Kastron.”

With a bow, the guards turn to forcibly escort Valerian out of Kastron, forever.

As Simon turned, he caught a glimpse of your gown turn the corner back to your chambers. He follows behind you once more, practically running to catch up to you.

“Darling, slow down–” he calls out, and you stop in your tracks, turning to face him. “He’s gone now—”

You stand there, your chest heaving as you fight back the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. The adrenaline from your confrontation still courses through your veins. It was a distressing experience, but you know you did what was necessary to protect your honor and your marriage.

Simon reaches you, his concern deepening as he takes in your flushed face and labored breathing. He gently places his hands on your shoulders, his eyes filled with worry. “Dove, are you all right? That was a brave thing you did back there…”

Your lower lip quivers for a brief moment, and you summon every ounce of your strength to hold back the tears threatening to spill. Crying in front of Simon is something you've never done before, and you're uncertain about how he would respond.

Simon notices the struggle within you, his eyes fill with empathy. He gently reaches out, his fingers softly brushing away a stray tear that escapes down your cheek. His touch is warm and reassuring, and he leans in to plant a tender kiss on your forehead.

“I– I’m fine, just frustrated, is all…I couldn’t stand by and let him insult us.”

Simon’s expression softens as you move to hug him, pressing your wet cheeks into his chest. His strong arms wrap around you, offering comfort. “You're the strongest person I know,” he murmurs into your ear. “I'm so proud to have you as my wife.”

You hold onto Simon tightly, taking comfort in his strength. “I love you,” you whisper, feeling a sense of security in his arms.

. . .

Simon held you close that night, his arms wrapped protectively around you as you both lay in the comfort of your bed. The events of the day had taken an emotional toll on you, and you found solace in his warm embrace.

Pressed against his chest, your head rested on his shoulder, and his fingers traced soothing patterns on your back. In the silence, broken only by the gentle rustle of bedsheets and soft breathing, you felt the weight of the world slowly lifting off your shoulders. The words you'd spoken to Valerian, the confrontation, and the emotional release afterward—all of it seemed like a distant memory now.

Simon’s heartbeat, steady and reassuring, echoed in your ear, lulling you into a peaceful sleep. Wrapped in his arms, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you had a partner who would always stand by your side.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#bad ass motherfucker reader #fluffy angst?#simon has never been more happy to see you hit someone on his behalf #simon let you take the reins this time #ghost will get superrr feral and protective soon enough besties #he loves to see you being confident af #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

703 notes · View notes

armpirate · 6 months ago

Text

Until You're Mine || Choi San | Ch. 2

MASTERLIST Previous || Next

Pairings: Mafia!San x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, obsession, mafia love

Warnings: dom!San, sub!reader, explicit language, mention of drug and guns, violence, rough sex.

Summary: San, a notorious and feared mafia boss, has always lived in the shadows of power and violence. When an ambush leaves him wounded and on the run, he finds refuge in an empty event hall. Inside, Y/n, a rising star in the world of event planning, is nursing her own wounds -a career on the line after a confrontation with a powerful client. The last thing she expects is for her night to take a dark turn when San stumbles into her life, bloodied and dangerous.

Despite the fear and uncertainty, Y/n can't turn away. She helps him clean up, binding more than just his wounds in the process. What begins as an intense, chance encounter spirals into a dangerous obsession. San, used to being the hunter, becomes fixated on the one woman who dared to help him, even in his darkest moment. Meanwhile, Y/n, caught in the mystery of that powerful man, finds herself tracking his every move, unable to shake the dangerous allure of his world.

Neither knows that their fascination with each other is mutual. In a city teeming with danger, power, and deceit, their secret obsessions will pull them deeper into a deadly game -one where love, power, and obsession intertwine, and nothing is as it seems.

Chapter duration: 12 minutes

The air in the basement was thick with the stench of blood and sweat, the low hum of a single light bulb casting long shadows across the concrete floor. San stood motionless in the middle of the room, his sharp, dark eyes fixed on the man tied to the chair before him. Lucas, the man who had dared to betray him, was barely conscious -his face a swollen mess of bruises and cuts, his breaths coming in ragged, pained gasps.

San adjusted the cuff of his navy suit, still immaculate despite the violence that had unfolded here. His black coat hung open, a stark contrast to the gore that splattered the floor beneath him. There was no rush, no urgency in his movements. He was methodical, calculating, cold.

Lucas looked up, lifting his head weakly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He knew too well that was only the beginning.

—Stop with your campiness —he spit the blood piling up in his mouth—. Is this all you got?

San tilted his head, his expression unreadable. Instead of answering, his eyes moved toward his body, sitting on the old wood chair, tied up from every part of his body so he wouldn't be able to resist what was to come.

—Hyun Su, your turn —he signaled to the older man standing in the corner of the room, watching with casual detachment, before he looked back at Lucas—. Don't worry. I'm leaving you in good hands.

The middle aged man was next to San when he stepped back from the chair, waiting for instructions with two of his hands on his back.

—He was quite skillful with his hands, so why don't you show him how artistic you can also get with him? —his right eyebrow, with a small slit in the middle due to a scar, lifted when he looked at Hyun Su.

With a flick of his wrist, San signaled to Wooyoung as he made his way toward the stairs. He had always been loyal -his best friend and most trusted ally-; he two of them understood each other on a level beyond words

—Oh —he turned one last time—, but keep his face and head untouched. I want everyone to recognize him when I send the message. Make sure everyone knows what happens when they try to play me.

—Looks like your time's up —San heard Hyun Su say, his tone playful—. Mr. Choi wants to send a message, and it seems like you're going to be the messenger.

Lucas groaned, too weak to resist, too broken to fight back.

On his back, San ignored the exchange. It was business, nothing personal. Lucas had made his choice when he tried to double-cross him during the drug exchange, and now he was paying the price. There were no second chances in San's world, no room for forgiveness.

He walked to the stairs, followed by his friend, wiping the edge of his sleeve with a clean white cloth. He didn't need to witness anything, because he knew his men knew better than to disobey his orders.

Wooyoung was halfway up the stairs when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen -a text from Mingi. It was a simple message, but it stopped the man in his tracks, which indirectly caused San to stop as well just to check on him.

—They found something.

San frowned, his thumb hovering over the screen as he opened the message. A picture popped up -a grainy shot taken from a security camera. It was the woman from last night. Y/n.

He stared at the image for a long moment, the events of the night before replaying in his mind. The feel of her hands on him as she tried to stop the bleeding, the way her red-rimmed eyes had looked up at him in fear and something else -something that had stirred something deep inside him.

Instead of discussing her out for everyone to hear, San just nodded and continued his way, knowing his friend was following from behind until they reached one of the rooms in that house to give them the privacy they needed.

—Is that the girl? —Wooyoung asked, closing the door behind him.

—Yeah, that's her —San sighed, taking his jacket off while making his way to the wide armchair at the corner of the room.

—He sent a report on her as well —his friend continued—. Almost a saint. Your Guardian Angel was on your ass last night.

And San could only wonder if that was the reason she was in her head, and not for the obvious reason that she could snitch on him to the police.

He didn't even understand why he kissed her.

San clenched his jaw. He shouldn't care. She was just a random woman who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time... Who was he kidding? She wasn't just a woman. He owed her his life, sure, but that didn't mean that was the only reason he kept thinking about her.

—He looked into the events being held in that place last night, and the only one was a mediocre award ceremony —he shrugged, while scrolling down Mingi's message—. She works in the event planning company behind it, CloudGold.

That only made the spectrum of those who made her cry even bigger. Last night, his first thought was her boss being behind it, but with that new information, he knew the range went from her boss to any of the assistants to that event.

—Graduated from the Most Holy Trinity School, then on the Cristo Rey High School, and graduated with high honors at the University of Detroit. Not a single stain in her record. Not a missing assignment, not a failed exam. The good girl in all forms of its meaning —Wooyoung chuckled—. No wonder she helped you without a doubt. If she's as Christian as her studies, it was in her blood to help you. Do you think she's the type to go to mass on Sundays? —Wooyoung joked.

Although San's frown deepened. He hadn't asked for all that information, but his men knew him well enough to anticipate his thoughts.

His mind raced with possibilities, with what to do next. She wasn't even in his orbit, she wouldn't be in danger because no one knew he went for a shelter where she was. And, for some reason, he didn't think she'd spill anything of what had happened that same night, mainly because she didn't know who he was -most possibly.

He had no reason to care for her or dedicate a corner of his day to her, and yet...

San stared at the photo on his phone, at her face, and felt something unsettling. Her features were sweet and delicate, all of them creating the perfect balance to make her the pretty creature she was. Her smile was gentle, with a small dimple forming under the right corner of her lip. A bit lower on her neck he noticed the thin silver rosary hanging almost in the middle of her cleavage, remembering it was the same one she was wearing the night they met.

And suddenly, he wanted to know everything about that smile. What caused it? Who caused it? Was it a professional smile? Or one he aimed at people closer to her?

She had saved him without knowing who he was, without demanding anything in return. In his world, that kind of innocence was rare -dangerous, even. And it was something he couldn't ignore.

That same innocence was triggering something he wasn't sure he'd be able to control.

—Where is this picture from?

—They followed her this morning, just in case she'd go to the police station —he informed—. This picture was taken at the entrance of her workplace, so I guess we're safe for now.

Pocketing his phone, he made a decision.

—Wooyoung —San called down to his friend, earning his full attention, getting him to focus even more.

—Yeah? —came Wooyoung's voice, lifting his eyebrows while he waited for his friend to go on.

—I want to know her every move —he finally sentenced—. I want to know everything she does from the moment she leaves her house to the moment she comes back. Her circle, colleagues, family, even the priest she goes to confess her sins to... I want to know everything.

Without saying a word, Wooyoung just nodded before he stepped outside the room.

Y/n sat at her desk, hidden from those who came through the main entrance, staring blankly at the notebook she had been drawing on for the past thirty minutes. The night had ended hours ago, the venue was probably silent and empty, with only a flicker memory of everything that happened the previous night, but her mind refused to quiet down. She had done everything she could to scrub the image of him -the bleeding man in the grey suit, the stranger who had barged into her life without warning- from her thoughts, but it was no use.

Why am I thinking about him so much?, she asked herself, clicking her tongue when finding no logical answers for that question.

The tension in her shoulders remained, a reminder of the chaotic mess that had unfolded in the night, not only at the event but afterward with him. She should've been angry -furious, even. He had come into her life, covered in blood, and left without so much as a proper explanation. He gave her one sweet talk while he was using her to survive, and then kissed her without asking her if he could.

Everything about him was wrong, everything about that man screamed at her to step back. But instead, her mind replayed his every word, every glance. The brief touch of his hand on her wrist. The look in his eyes when he had said, "I'll find you". It sounded like a promise of how he'd think of her as much as she was going to think of him.

That was the part that unsettled her the most.

Y/n rubbed her temples, trying to shake the feeling, but she couldn't. She had spent half the day going over everything again and again, and by the time evening hit, she realized she couldn't let it go.

Then there was the car -the sleek black car that had picked him up that night. She hadn't gotten a great look at it in the dim light, but there was one thing she did remember clearly: the license plate.

The numbers and letters flashed in her mind, refusing to leave. She wasn't even sure why she had memorized it. Maybe it was a gut feeling. Or maybe it was something more.

Before she knew it, Y/n had turned the pages of the notebook and jotted the registration down, the numbers and letters scrawled in messy handwriting. Her pen hovered over the page for a long moment. It was insane. She didn't even know that guy, yet there she was, tracing a thread back to him, like some kind of... forced connection.

—God, what am I doing? —she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

It wasn't how she usually acted. She was level-headed, focused. She was careful, the type to walk the opposite side when seeing someone with one ugly look. Helping a man covered in blood, without letting justice get their piece of cake wasn't something she was educated to do. And definitely obsessing over a stranger wasn't something she did, nor expected to do.

And yet, she couldn't stop. That man got in her system like a disease, and it was so illogical she couldn't quite understand what happened the previous night for her to feel that way.

Her fingers itched for her phone, and before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled it out of her bag, scrolling through her contacts. She knew exactly who to call -Derek. He wasn't a close friend, at least not anymore. They were closer when they were kids, since they were constantly forced to be together because their parents were close, to the point of thinking of them celebrating their first holy communion together. Through the years, he became that good christian with a stable job, dedicating his life to protect those around him, becoming a police officer. As much as she didn't quite want to rekindle a friendship, he was the only person she knew who worked with car registrations and records. And, most importantly, he was the only person who wouldn't try to dig deeper on why she was asking him that favor.

After a few rings, Derek's gruff voice came through the line.

—Y/n? It's been a long time... What's up? Are your parents alright? —his voice turned concerned for a second.

—My parents are well —she hesitated for a second, gripping the phone tighter—. How are you?

—I'm okay —she could see his smile through the line—. So, anything new?

—Well, I'm calling you because I need a favor.

—Sure, what kind of favor? —there was a curious note in his voice.

—I need you to run a license plate for me —she took a deep breath, knowing how ridiculous that was sounding as she explained—. Can you do that?

There was a pause on the other end.

—You're not in trouble, are you?

—No —she said quickly, forcing a laugh—. Nothing like that. I just... I saw something weird the other night, and it's been bothering me. I just want to know who the car belongs to.

That click of tongue on the other side gave her a hint on what was coming up, and it was the reason why she cut all types of connection with him.

—You'd be doing way better if you had stayed in your mother's bakery.

There was nothing more tempting than thinking of tying herself to a bakery in Farmington Hills, only because her parents were convinced that living and working in Detroit was going to put her life at risk every day.

Out of her twenty six years of life, that happened only once. And it wasn't like she was completely in danger...

—Alright. I'll do it —he finally said, following her thick silence—. What's the plate number?

Y/n glanced down at the notepad, reading off the numbers and letters she had memorized so easily.

—It's... XXV-435.

There was a brief silence on the other end as Derek likely typed the number into his system.

—Give me a minute —he said, his voice turning more serious—. I'll see what I can find.

There was a big chance that the license plate was fake, although she didn't think of that possibility until she was already on that call.

As the seconds ticked by, Y/n stared at the night outside the window at her right, her heart pounding faster than it should've been. What was she doing? Why was she chasing this down like it meant something?

—Okay... —Derek's voice returned, slower this time—. This car's registered to a real estate business. High-end stuff, nothing public.

—What? Real estate? —she sighed— So I guess there's no way to know what person that car belongs to.

—It's a company's car, so it's difficult to know —he said, the tone in his voice shifting—. Why do you want to know? Y/n, if it's something that happened, it's better to let authorities work with it instead of doing it on your own, I...

—Can you say what's the name of the real estate?

—Obsidian Ventures.

A chill ran down her spine. Of course. The man she had met -who she didn't know the name of yet- hadn't exactly screamed "ordinary". The way he had carried himself, even bleeding and half-conscious, had exuded control and power. Who else would be behind one of the most important companies in Michigan if it wasn't him?

—Look, I don't know why you're looking into this, but... be careful —Derek warned—. Rich people are the most dangerous out there.

—Thanks —she swallowed, her grip tightening on the phone—, but I'll be fine.

She hung up before he could say anything more, her heart racing as she stared at the dark screen. She shouldn't have done this. She should have let it go, walked away, pretended like that night never happened.

But now that she had a sliver of information, she couldn't stop.

She already had the company he owned, which opened a new door for her to think of a possible new connection, or an excuse, to see him again.

And why couldn't she shake the feeling that this wasn't the end?

Her fingers hovered over her phone, debating. She could leave it alone. She could forget about the car, about him, and go back to her life. But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't possible.

Because he had already left his mark on her, and she was beginning to wonder if she would ever be able to shake it.

Taglist: @a-tiny-thing

56 notes · View notes