#And then i also worry if i give permission but it does bother me much more later down the line

[peppermint-moss]

I have a really important question, how do you feel about your art being used in edits ? And I don’t mean taking your whole amv/pmv and changing the audio , I mean taking a few clips here and there, I want to make sure I’m not crossing any boundaries or anyone else

honestly ive been goin a lil back and forth for a while on how i feel about it; at the moment ive kinda been like i dont really like it but i also dont rlly care enough for it to actually make me uncomfortable/upset ? and then i think maybe i should just let ppl use it for edits if they dont bother me Too much idk... The only thing i know for certain is (wht u already mentioned) do not go taking my whole video and changing the audio etc. But just a few clips agh im not quite sure yet Sorry for the wishy-washy answer I know that's probably frustrating :( I'd say for now I'd prefer if people don't use my art/animations in edits but if that answer changes I'll update it in my FAQ on my tumblr and prob reblog this to inform ppl of it

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

hello !! if it’s not too much of a bother can you write another piece featuring Lion 🫶 maybe another angsty piece, maybe a lil lion + farah combo or something else like lion and gaz getting separated from the 141 during a mission and having to fight their way back to the extraction point (?). totally up to you !!! also thank u for keeping us well fed 🙇‍♀️

Lions and Ibexes

PAIRING: John Price x Wife!Reader 'Codename Lion'

SYNOPSIS: Impulsive was what John always called you - affectionately, of course. But he sure does worry when you disappear without him.

WORDCOUNT: 4.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, death, canon typical violence, a tiny bit of angst, fluff, banter, no connection to 'I'll Take the Night Shift' except codenames, protective!Price, suggestive jokes, etc.

A/N: I wanna give Farah a big smooch on her forehead.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“So this is the woman that the Captain won’t keep quiet about,” you smirk and place your hand into Farah Karim’s, eyes shimmering as you both share a tight grip. 

“Commander,” greeting the black-haired woman, your light gear hangs off of you easily and efficiently; clean and well-taken care of. 

“Lion,” she nods, smirking back. “A pleasure.”

“Please,” you huff a laugh, “I wish it could be.” Expressions dim as you instantly get to work, the hot sun and dry air sticking to your flesh like a second skin of humidity. Releasing Farah’s hand you sigh and look around the old town, skimming over the forms of other Urzikstan Liberation Force soldiers. 

Farah does the same, breathing lowly. 

“On that, I believe you’d be right.” Brown eyes flick to yours, looking you over before the woman nods. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

“Lead the way,” your feet push you onward, following behind the Commander as your wedding band clinks against your chest. Held on that long chain, a hand comes up to brush it carefully, letting the man who wears the mirrored piece bring you comfort even from so far away. 

John was set to ship out in two days—there were some other important operations that had taken precedence. While you could have stayed behind with him, as you had wanted to do, a plea from one of the far-distant operators of One-Four-One had caught your ear. The name Farah Karim was known. 

If you didn’t offer assistance, you’d never feel right with yourself. One call to Laswell and it was all set up. 

“I’ll be there in two days,” John had muttered into your scalp as you both lay in bed, tight to one another; lashes fluttering. “Wait for me, yeah? No running off.” 

Your smirk had made him sigh a chuckle. “No stunts of heroics, my Love? Please, do you know who you’re speaking to?”

“You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know?”

“Well,” the words are uttered into his neck and John pulls you tighter into him. “I think that’s just about the most romantic thing to happen to someone.” 

Smiling to yourself, you bring the ring to your lips and kiss it lightly before letting it drop. In your head, John is still in your shared flat in London, and you’ll be back by the hour. If only. 

“You contacted Laswell and said you had encountered more of Barkov's remaining cells?” Your voice carries easy authority; ingrained confidence. 

Farah looks back and nods firmly. 

“They’ve taken over a town in the mountains, my forces can’t break the line.” She sighs aggressively and you stare with a sliding frown. “Even dead, Barkov cannot leave my people alone.”

In the back of your throat, you hum, “Well, parasites tend to be resilient.” Farah leads you into a home with maps on the tables and low talking of strategies from others. They pause when you enter and you nod politely. Many here knew your husband as the Commander did—all those years back when he was still only a Lieutenant and had broken Farah and her brother Hadir out from the Russian’s jail; labeled as prisoners of war. 

John had told you about it during one of the many late nights in your joint offices. Eyes tired and his hands playing with your hair.

“What do you need me to do?” You ask genially, standing near the table and placing your hands down on it—standard M4A1 resting over your chest and your secondary weapon strapped to your thigh. Unlike most, you’d opted for lighter gear to allow you to move faster. 

Fewer packs sit on your vest, and the gleam of the knife on your shoulder was a testament to your preference to close, silent, encounters. Though you liked to use your silver tongue to get out of situations, unfortunately, that wouldn’t work in this instance. 

“Captain Price told me you’re one of the best undercover agents he’s seen.” You perk at this, looking over with raised brows.

“Hell,” your chuckle echoes, “when you said he couldn’t keep quiet I thought you were exaggerating.” 

Farah smiles cheekily at you before pointing to the map of a mountain town surrounded by red Xs.

“My soldiers have marked off choke points all around the area. They’re the only pathways to the town, but heavily guarded.” She glances around the room and you hear her sigh heavily. “I wouldn’t have asked for assistance unless I knew I needed it. I’d prefer to leave foreign fighters out of this conflict, unlike my enemy.” 

“I understand,” your head shakes. “It’s your home—I’ll go where you need me to. John should be here in two days to assist.”

Farah’s face flashes with surprise, her full brows rising on her head. “Price is coming?”

You shrug and laugh, “he’s stubborn.” 

The woman chuffs before moving to fold her arms over her chest. “I think perhaps he’s more of a smitten husband, hm?” At the sheepish expression on your face and dipping eyes, Farah barks a laugh.

The band around your neck clinks into the stock of your gun as you stand to your full height. 

“Is it that obvious,” you tease, tilting your head to her. You knew it was.

“I believe the simple action of asking is proof enough, Lion.” The commander looks at her work on the table, smiling easily but focusing still on her plan of attack. “But, regardless, I give my thanks for flying out on such short notice.”

“We help our own.” Resting your hands on the body of your weapon, you smile fondly. “Now, who do I need to kill?” 

—

As it turns out, killing was the very baseline of what you needed to do. 

Shuffling into the dark armor of the dead Russian soldier at your feet, you grunt at the slick spread of blood on the ground as you strap arm braces to your limbs. 

“Heavy as all hell,” you grumble under your breath, picking up the large helmet and shoving it over your head with a puff of air. 

Farah was going to lead a distraction on the far side of the western choke point while you slipped into the ranks, placing packs of C4 in some of the large-stocked weapons buildings. Easy enough for you, you admitted. You’d done things like this a million times over. 

When all was said and done, slipping your knife into the new belt at your waist, you gaze down at the dead man with a huff of air; seeing the blood still pooling from the very obvious signs of a slit up the left armpit. You blink and stuff your wedding band down your shirt. 

“Bad day, buddy,” grabbing his legs, you bare your heels and drag the body behind a large outcropping of rocks—long streaks of crimson left behind. “I’d hate to be you right now.” 

Grunting, you drop the limp flesh with a thump like a paper-towel roll meeting the counter. 

Shuffling back into the open, your feet make tracks to get you closer toward your targets. You hike the small pouch Farah gave you farther up your back without a word more. 

John had always said you were quick-witted, but when he got here he’d lose that hat of his in disbelief. The truth was that you had forgotten what little of the Russian language you’d initially known, and the situation you found yourself in now was frankly not ideal.

C’mon Lion, you think to yourself, just pick up social cues and you’ll be good. 

Oh, your husband was going to lose his shit.

—

“Come again?” The Captain barks. “What do you fuckin’ mean she’s in the base?!”

“I just explained it,” Farah levels, raising a brow. Blue eyes narrow with a growl until the Commander's lips flicker in a smirk. “We just had word three minutes ago. She’s fine, Captain.” Fingers find John’s nose bridge, digging deep into the flesh in large exasperation and worry.

He had caught a C17 and came here a day early after he’d gotten a bad feeling—internal wife radar going off as it usually did when you placed yourself in danger without him. Which was more often than not.  

I told her not to be impulsive. 

John sighs long and low, shaking his head. “Farah…you sent her in alone?” 

“She is quite capable, Price.”

“I fucking…” He stops himself and puts his hands on the table in the center of the building. Men and women were snickering from the corners, sending amused glances. “I know.”

Farah sends a glance to her soldiers and they turn away to cover their smiling mouths. Enjoyment was in her tone as she grabs the walkie-talkie from the table top and clips it to her vest. 

“There were more men than we anticipated—she had to be more careful when placing the charges. Captain,” John glares up at her when his eyes leave the maps. The Commander teases, “She is fine.”

As if on cue, the radio fizzles with your voice. Farah looks down with surprise and the Brit's eyes snap to it immediately; body tense. 

There’s a moment of garbled static where the Captain feels his heart beating out of his chest. The panic that had snapped through him when you hadn’t come out to greet him when he’d landed was primal; genuine fear stuck in his bones like spiky grass. The bond the two of you had was closer than anything on this plane of existence. It was rare to not see one without the other.

Your voice cuts through and John’s shoulders sag under a non-existent weight.

“You should tell your men to move unless they want to be scorched, Farah!” The woman in the room smiles ferally and raises a smug brow as she looks at John. 

“Copy, Lion. You have my thanks.” 

“I didn’t know you could improvise Russian—it’s like the Slavic blood just entered my body!” The Brit covers his eyes with his hand and groans at the base of his throat. 

“Tell her to get her arse back here before she gets bloody shot.” John takes off his bucket hat and tosses it to the table with a gloved hand, punching his hair back from his forehead. “Giving me gray hairs,” he grunts. 

Farah laughs and says eagerly into the walkie, “Someone’s here to say hello.”

“...Oh, fuck.” Your panting breath clears and after a long glare at the device, John hears you say in a slow and awkward tone, “Hello, my Love!”

Farah tilts the radio closer to him and looks highly pleased. 

“Get back here. Now.” John grunts out, fingers digging into his arms as he crosses them. “I told you to wait for me.”

You laugh nervously, deflecting, “...did you, Dear? I guess I misheard you.” The Brit’s jaw clenches but Farah can speak before he can.

“Lion, are all the charges set, then?” You seem thankful for the distraction, sighing over the line.

“All good over here! I just need the O.K from your men and then it’s about to get a whole lot brighter.” 

“I’ll relay the news—get away, as far as you can.”

“Already on it,” your breathy chuckle exits and you pause before saying. “See you soon, Love!” 

Tiny blue eyes bug, “Wait–!” The line clicks off and Farah is already tapping into the frequency for her soldiers, turning slightly away to converse in quick Arabic. 

—

Evening rolls around and you jog back into the Liberation Force’s base, greeting the guards stationed with a breathless sigh; utterly sweaty but happy you’d gotten half a ride back from some locals. You’re back in your original gear, sear marks on your cheeks and hair slightly burned, but nonetheless unharmed. 

Everyone welcomes you back with handshakes and pats on your shoulders—brushes to your arm as people pass. You guide yourself back to the main building with chuckles and deep smiles of achievement. 

“Someone’s happy.” John’s voice freezes you halfway into the home and you cringe like a leaf. After a moment your eyebrows slide up with a cheeky smile.

“John,” you draw out his name and turn, seeing him leaning against the house with his arms crossed and legs stiff. He looks unimpressed in all of his handsome glory. “Well, don’t you look nice—did you trim your beard before coming out?” 

Walking slowly towards him, you loop your hands around his waist and press kisses into his neck sweetly. The man sighs long and you feel his large palms rest on your hips heavily. You blink innocently into his orbs. 

“Your silver tongue won’t work on me, Love.” The glint in his expression eggs you on as his nose tints down to touch yours. You smile brightly, seeing the wrinkles on his forehead dim as he melts into you easily. 

Whispering, you utter to the air, “I’d say you like my tongue, you brute. Tell me often enough.” Not a beat is missed, but you feel his cheeks go slightly red.

“Keep it on a leash and maybe I’d like it more, yeah?” You snort loudly, head dipping only to feel his lips press into your scalp; his smile is teasing as his beard drags against you. 

John breathes you in along with the scent of sand. One of his hands travels up to lock into the back of your neck, playing with the chain of your necklace. The one that mirrors his own down to the very dents and scratches. 

“You alright?” The words are a murmur into your flesh. You let him play with your wedding band as your smile softens to the same sensation of warm pelts on a wooden floor. 

There was no use telling you to stop your crusades, the Brit knew that. You did what you wanted and damn the consequences; John was stuck with damage control but knew you had the skills and know-how to break all odds. You still held that same fire that the woman he married wore like a crown of fangs without fail.  

“Always,” you reassure him, hugging his waist tighter and staring into his eyes.

The both of you lapse into a delicate hold. John’s arms cage you in and you’d have it no other way as fingers drag over warm flesh, never mind the brutal dig of gear or the stain of blood. Neither could keep you away from the other. 

“When will you stop making my heart rip out of my chest, Sweetheart?” John asks, smirking down at you. “Trying to give me a heart attack before forty, eh?”

“Oh, please,” you whisper against his lips, eyes alight with mischief as he watches you closely—pulse pounding against yours. He could never be angry at you. “We both know that if you have one, I’ll be having one too. We’ll end up being brain-dead at the same damn time, no doubt.” 

He laughs against you lowly, having to pull back to shake his head at your bland confession. “You’re fuckin’ mental, Love.” He breathes in soft puffs of breath. You gaze up at him, laced with affection and care, as he rests his forehead on yours. “Ah, but that’s alright, isn’t it? We’re all a bit crazy.” 

“You might be a little bit higher on the metaphorical scale,” you tease, face serious but eyes betraying you. They always would when it came to John; the only person to break through that ‘cunning nuisance’ that everyone always mentioned in your file. 

“Really, now?” He blinks, smirking and rubbing at your hip absentmindedly and leaning closer—pushing your neck to the side. 

“Just a bit,” you huff, not even realizing. 

Before you can utter another word, firm lips capture you like a beast in iron bars, bulky forearms stuck at the curve of your spine. You chirp into John’s mouth in surprise but melt into him as his large purr resonates into your bloodstream. Singing, you bring your hands to his cheeks, digging through those bristles to feel the burn on your hands. 

Humming, your husband nuzzles his nose into your cheek like a dog would, letting him take in your scent as you feel your legs go weak. You enjoy the worship he gives you; always would. Your body is tightly held against his own and you gladly would have shown him how much you enjoyed him being here if only for the small fact you needed to talk to Farah. 

With one last pass of his reddened lips, you slip back and kiss his bristly cheek with a chuckle. 

“Later.” 

He groans into you. “Tease.” 

“I didn’t even do anything!” You laugh loudly, moving out of his hold to walk into the house as he follows at your heels. John’s hands go to the top of his vest collar to rest. 

He leans down and whispers, “Don’t need to, Love.” 

Your face burns for him and only him as he grumbles out chuckles at your blown pupils. Huffing, you turn and roll your eyes, trying to dispel your flaming blood. Farah waits for you and with a happy glance up she comes from around the table and claps you on both shoulders. You grunt in surprise but grip her elbows with a laugh. 

“Barkov’s remaining cell was wiped out—my soldiers are hunting down the remnants as we speak.” She squeezes your gear and you sigh in relief. “Thank you, Lion, for coming out when you did. The Captain was not wrong in his assessment.” 

You turn your head to the side and glance back at John. “Hear that my Love, I’ve heard you talk about me. That’s so precious.” 

His face goes red under his beard, and his feet shuffle as you and Farah share a joking glance. John releases under-the-breath grumbles before the Commander addresses him. The woman releases you but speaks past your person.

“Some of my younger soldiers wanted you to mentor them with the use of their weapons, do you plan on staying the night?” You and John share a look, a seeming telepathic communication going on. 

He nods at you and you smile. “Only tonight, we ship out at first light. I’ll do what I’m able.”

“Then you also have my thanks. They’ll learn much, I’m sure. Lion,” John comes and gives you a kiss on the cheek before leaving. You watch him go for a moment before rubbing at your dirty neck while you listen to Farah. “Come with me, there’s fresh water on the roof.” 

“Oh,” you perk, suddenly realizing the fatigue in your bones and the dryness of your throat. “Thank you, that’d be great.”

As you both ascend the stairs to the roof, there’s a still silence that falls, a calm nothingness. When you finally stand on the flat roof, you look over the vast land as Farah hands you a chilled water bottle from a mini-fridge. You take it with a small nod in thanks. 

“Nice view,” you motion with the bottle before taking a long sip—downing half of it in one go. 

Farah smiles and hums. “Urzikatan is a beautiful place,” you listen and wipe at your mouth; seeing people walk the streets below as the red sun grows even lower. In the wind, your nose twitches to sand and dust, with some hint of floral notes and arid cleanliness. Farah’s face seeps with a low sadness when she looks out to the land and you pause your drinking. Brows pulling in, you watch her. 

“Farah?” You ask, carefully. It’s a moment before she responds.

“I…” She crosses her arms and sets her feet. “I wonder if this place will ever see its freedom. We’ve been fighting for so long already. My family has known war more than anything else.” Brown eyes drift to you from the side of her eye. 

There’s a tightness in your chest. You can’t imagine what Farah feels right now, what she has felt. Years of this…and still her home is under foreign subjugation. A frown grows on your face and you put the half-full bottle to the small wooden table near the roof’s corner. 

“You’ll get your sovereignty, Farah.” You try your best to speak your mind to the woman but remain truthful to your belief. Farah stares out as you sigh lowly. “Maybe not now—maybe not in this generation—but someday the sun is going to set on a free Urzikatan. You’re plenty strong enough to assure that and you’ve done a proper job so far. The frames are already set.” 

The Commander hums and gazes at her soldiers below as they mull about, laughing with each other and enjoying the company of their fellow countrymen.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?” Farah asks you, and you study her genuine interest in her own thoughts. “Who we would be if nothing ever happened to us.” 

You stare for a moment, skull tilting down to gaze at the top of the roof. It’s not an easy question to answer. 

“Sometimes,” your lips admit. Farch eagerly pivots to your form like you hold the greatest answer imaginable. She’s been through so much—losing her family, and her home. Humming, your eyes shift to the setting sun; blinking at it. Against all of this, your lips flinch up into a smile. “But not often.” 

Farah’s eager gaze turns confused, her brows furrowing deeply with a scrunched face. 

“Because right here, right now,” John walks down the street below, and your eyes fall to him as easily as a leaf dances to the ground. The expression on your face eases. “It couldn’t have happened if there were never bad days.” Your husband looks up, and you see him pause among the ranks of other fighters. You chuckle softly, head tilting to the side. 

John stares at you as if you’re the only person to exist, moving one hand from his vest to jerk two fingers in a subtle greeting. Farsh watches the interaction closely, tension loosening from her body. Your head nods slowly to your husband and you say to the woman, absent-minded, “I’m right where I need to be…And the sun has never looked brighter.”

Farah huffs a laugh, eyes running back and forth between the two of you. 

“He loves you,” she says, “deeply.” 

“God,” your laugh echoes, “I sure hope so.” The both of you laugh. 

It felt easy to speak to the Commander, truthfully. Being surrounded by four men all of the time can get catty even with such a strong bond as you had with One-Four-One. 

You dare to share more.

"In my mind, John and I are still in Hertfordshire for our wedding,” The words come out of you slowly, unwrapping emotions one layer at a time as if swaddled in a dark veil of internal nostalgia. You watch John as he walks along, oddly sad but filled with something that makes you want to take him up into your arms with a wet laugh. “Sitting back on the grassy hills outside of town in my gown and him in his tux. The wind is cold…but neither of us can find it in ourselves to shiver. The sun's setting on our heads and making everything glow gold. His fingers are running through my hair…” You pause and hear Farah’s soft breath in the air, but you don’t look at her. Your eyes stay stuck on one person only. “When I die,” your words continue, “I can't ask for anything more than just a glimpse of that again. Just a flicker of that hill. Of those blue eyes looking into mine. I don't think it would be all that bad if I could live in that moment for senseless eternity. If I could live in it for only one second." 

John looks back at you from over his shoulder, your form shrouded in the setting sun as he slowly walks away from you. You gaze with melted eyes, the ring around your neck shining all the brighter. 

“I’m right where I need to be,” finishing, you turn your glossy eyes to Farah, who stares with a wide pull to her lids. “And you need to believe that even if you never get to see that freedom—that hill—you’ll make sure someone else can climb it just an inch farther.” 

It’s a long moment before Farah answers.

“The both of you will do this until one of you dies, hm?” You blink before you shrug. 

“Not one.” Your tone is easy, and John’s shadow turns a corner; out of sight. “I’d never let him go without me.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Cancelled

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: Your plans change.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Sat on a few of these fics for ages because I'm overthinking them, but thought 'ahhh, I need to post them now in time for the event!' Having a deadline is very helpful.

Warnings: Reader experiencing some sensory issues, Jake reading smutty books, overuse of italics, typos, not beta read, rail-road sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 801

Your phone buzzes on the bed. The drone is muffled slightly by the pillow it’s under. You finish fixing your outfit in the mirror and sigh. 

The material was ever so slightly wrong today. Normally it was fine, but now the feel of it just irritated you. But this was the seventh outfit you’d tried on and honestly if you were going to make it to the restaurant by 8pm, even with Jake’s ingenious driving, you had to leave now. 

You pick up your phone, glancing at the screen as you unlock it. 

One message. 

From one of your friends you were meeting up with. Probably something along the lines of ‘see everyone soon’. Usually you were excited to see them. They were some of your oldest and dearest friends, and you loved their company. But today it just felt off. Getting dressed up and going out. Eating at a semi expensive (for your budget anyway) restaurant that you didn’t even like that much. Putting on your ‘social interaction face’. It all just seems far too exhausting. 

Your eyes widened as you read the messages on the group chat. 

‘Can’t make it, stupid traffic at the tunnel! Been stuck for 50 mins and haven’t moved!’

‘I can’t either, babysitter fell through!’

‘So sorry everyone, maybe it’s for the best, I’ve got a horrible headache and was gonna power through, but maybe it’s best if we reschedule?’

The last message had you at-ted. 

‘It’s that okay with you? Sorry you let you down! <3’

Relief floods your veins and you hastily type a, ‘no worries, let’s reschedule’, adding several happy face emojis out of paranoia that your message could be misread, before you wish everyone well and to have a good evening. 

Jake hears you throw your bedroom door open, but doesn’t glance up from where he’s slouched over your armchair reading. It’s one of those bodice-ripping paperbacks from the 80s with the fabulously illustrated covers. Jake’s guilty pleasure. While he knows that Marc and Steven wouldn’t care, and most likely wouldn’t be bothered at all by his reading choices, he also very much does not want them to know. A feeling he’s sure he should try to unpack at some point. 

But that was a future Jake task. 

Which is why he’d taken to either hiding them behind the cistern in Steven’s flat or keeping them at yours, tucked neatly on your bookshelf (with your permission) behind a row of your books. 

“You ready to go amor?” He asked as he turned the page. 

You bounded over to him, ripping your stupid, itchy top off in the process. “Excellent news!” You stopped in front of him, smacking your hands onto the armchair for emphasis. 

Jake didn’t even flinch, half absorbed in his book and half used to your dramatic flare.

“Oh?” He glanced up at you and paused, a small frown of interest crossing his face. “You don’t have a top on.” 

“Exceptional observation skills Lockey.” 

He smirks. 

“Guess what?” 

“You’re embracing a new life as a nudist?” 

“The meal’s cancelled.” 

“What?” 

“The meal’s cancelled. You know cancelled, as in not happening.” You grin.

He gives you a playful look and swats your upper arm softly with his book. (His middle finger pressed inside to keep his page.) “I know what cancelled means, why?”

“Traffic, no babysitter, and headache.” You list the reasons as you count them on your hand excitedly. 

He smiles. “Really weren’t feeling it today were you?”

“How could you tell?” You say playfully. 

“Well, you kicking the door open to tell me was a good give away.”

You laugh.

“Plus, you really were leaving it pretty fine to get there on time.” He slips his bookmark between the pages and puts the book down on the floor before inching forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and gently pulls you into his lap, giving you plenty of time to step back if you wanted to. “I know how much being late makes you anxious.” 

You snuggle up to him, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. His day old stubble rubs against your skin. But this sensation is comforting. Like home. 

“So you letting it get to this time without us going, or without you telling me off for reading instead of putting my shoes on.” 

“I don’t tell you off.” You grumble, your words muffled by how your mouth is pressed against his neck. 

Jake laughs. “Playfully.”

You tut affectionately. “Alright, playfully.” You adjust your position on his lap, getting comfortable. 

“So, what do you want to do tonight?” He presses a light kiss to your temple.

“Hmm, how about… pizza and you can read some of your smutty book to me?” 

He laughs again and kisses your lips. “Sounds good.” 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[seikkoi]

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰᴏᴜʀ [1, 2, 3] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 10k

“I have not been meeting with Steve.” you scowled behind gritted teeth. Balled fists return to your side. Pin-point daggers shoot back, unphased.

It’s an absurd notion on its own, that you betray him in the slightest. You also know you’ve had sneezes last longer than that conversation–how the hell did Tony know about it?

“Try again.” He doesn’t return your heat in his voice, leaving that to be felt through his grasp. 

“Fine, I ran into Steve, but come on, you seriously think I would–”

“Not sure what to think given how easy it just was for you to lie to me.” 

“You’ve been lying to me from the start!” 

You pulled yourself from his grasp, tossing the bag onto the island. Cream marble and translucency make for wonderful camouflage, almost losing itself in the light entirely.

“I’d hardly call my personal habits comparable to sneaking around.” 

Adrenaline does what it knows best, keeping you pliant and pissed. Two things that erode rationalism like rust. The iron spreads to whatever argument you would’ve made had there been more time to prepare. Or sense to see the mosaic pattern here. Time stills for no more than a few seconds–and that’s all Tony needs.

“So, go ahead, please. Tell me more about what I should think .”

He says it so permissively, you might have obliged if his jaw loosened even a bit to do so. That tiny breadth of space is stalked through by shiny leather oxfords. You’re given a not so pleasant reminder of his stature when he's in front of you again, more overwhelming than before. The cool stone island digs into your back. 

“Here I was actually worried something could have happened to you–turn’s out you’re searching for, what , exactly?” 

The reversal almost worked, really. The reminiscent guilt came back as it always does. You felt the same way for wanting to leave back in California months ago. Even all that time ago in that dimly lit boutique. Tony showed you time and time again how much he loved you– wanted you, and here you were, finding another reason to push him away.

You were so close to giving in. The marble’s nearly swallowed the powdery bag whole by now, for it takes you longer to see the plastic outline bouncing back at you. 

Tony waits, hands tucked into the pocket of his suit pants (in a very deliberate attempt to hide his own unease). His eyes still bore back into you like a hawk, and you wanted to surrender to them until their pin-point, reddened nature dawned on you. Then, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the tempo beating fast your own. The shake in his hands when he held you in place.

To Tony, you meet his eyes with something far more heart-piercing than anger, and he gets a sick feeling of deja vu. You wouldn’t know–his face stone cold from years of practice. But this close, you can see something worse. 

“You’re wasted right now .” 

You don’t bother making it a question (it’s a quiet scoff). Nor do you bother to wait for the response he’s struggling to muster. Decades of life yet he lacked a great deal of experience in getting called on his shit.  All the air seems to leave the room, saving just the few breaths you have remaining in your lungs. 

“We’re done.” 

You use them wisely, calmly , even, to head for the elevator and as far away from this as possible. Despite the fact your ears are ringing. Don’t ask where you find the willpower. You push past him, rather easily because Tony moves for the sanctity of his shoulder and knee. 

Your fingers go to grace the brass buttons, but Tony crosses the threshold with far fewer steps and positions himself between you and the opening door. 

“ Move , Tony.” you say sternly, though it feels ridiculous raising your voice at someone whose gaze you have to look up to meet. 

“Don’t want to keep Mr. America waiting, of course.”

“Seriously?” you scoff, eyes rolling. “You’re still on that?”

“I don’t know, you still wanna lie to me?” 

“How many times do I need to tell you–”

“I know you were with him, so you can cut the bullshit.”

“I told you, I ran into Steve. That’s . It. ” you respond, making another move for the button just for Tony to shift an inch to the left. 

“You two looked very cozy outside that bar. Let me guess, he ordered a Manhattan and you just couldn’t say no.” 

“For god’s sake, no . He came out while I was waiting and asked me not to tell you–end of story.” You’d hoped that added details would be enough to assuage him–at least to move out of your way.

“So, you decided all on your own to rummage through the bathroom?” 

As many of his questions tend to be, he already knows the answer. Even still, the look you give is telling on its own. 

“I mean, really–” he chuckles dryly, “Please tell me what is so special about him that you keep trusting him over me.” 

“He, for one, isn’t controlling or watching my every move–out of the way, Tony.” you repeat, exhausted. 

Tony’s eyes dart down to the elevator panel he’d done such a phenomenal job of blocking, before glancing back at your pleading face. That seems to do the trick, because he presses the call button himself and gestures open arms into the small space. 

“By all means, knock yourself out.”

Shocked, but without another word, you enter. As you turn and press L for the lobby, you expect Tony’s irate face staring back at you.

Instead, you catch the patterned fabric lining the back of his suit vest as he walks away.

Once the elevator doors shut, Tony loses his last semblance of composure. 

A sheer crystal serving tray by the stove behind him, topped with an array of ornate glasses, is thrown straight across the kitchen where it crashes to a million pieces at the plush living room rug. 

He truly does not enjoy your penchant for storming off today or any other day.

Today is the worst, though, for two reasons. One, he’s not certain that letting you leave was the best move in the long-term. Two, you promised never to do this in the first place–you fucking promised. 

Another innocent bystander (this time a glass pitcher) joins the pile in the living room. 

Stuttery hands brace the counter. It’s of little effort for him to keep a hardened facade in the face of anger, but now that you’re not here to see it, the stone mask cracks. Shame, guilt, anger and that sneaky trickster known as self-righteousness blend up into something new entirely. There’s no pride in this for him, truly. 

The billionaire was so certain when he saw the photos. You and fucking Rogers of all people, talking so close. Paranoia and a lack of reasonable perspective means his first thoughts are not pleasant in any shape or form. He wasn’t controlling , everything he did was preventative. This was self-confirmation (and a shit ton of jealousy). You’d simply done the thing he was most afraid of. 

Or it was the thing he was most afraid of. 

The counter stays tight under his grasp until his hands sport two fresh indentations, cursing himself and trying not to think about how breakable the chandelier is. 

Just as he was sure of the photos, he was sure of you . You wouldn’t leave him, you were here to stay, you wanted him–right? 

Only now under the cool touch of marble does he realize those ideas could never possibly co-exist. 

No one as good to him as you would betray him, you wouldn’t. But you could reach the breaking point he sought so heavily to avoid in the beginning.

All alone in his tower built atop money and bad habits, the chandelier is spared as the great Tony Stark starts to break instead.

That is until he remembers he isn’t alone.

“Jarvis.” he calls out, and the older man emerges from the hallway no louder than a mouse.

Don’t feel embarrassed, the walls and loyal ears have certainly heard worse. Discretion is 90% of his job after all. In fact, right now he’s pretending not to notice the tears running down Tony’s face.

“Find out where she went.”

Tony keeps his head trained to the countertop anyway, just in case. Jarvis turns to follow through his instructions, but stops as soon as he starts. Decades of serving the Stark family is enough to know he’s probably better off holding his tongue. He speaks for your sake.

“Sir, I suspect she went home.” 

At this, the wetness is dried by his shirt sleeve, already grabbing his coat to follow you. 

“Sir,” Jarvis quickly interjects, Tony’s fingers on the call button. “Might I suggest…waiting until the morning?” 

He doesn’t need to say why. Tony can guess well enough.

You actually had no destination in mind. The thought of home felt disgustingly empty, and the reminder that you only still had it because of Tony would definitely stay persistent. You couldn’t bear to think about what you might've done to pay for it otherwise. Going to a friend’s would require an explanation you absolutely could not give. For a while, you wander just as before. You must look insane to the people passing by–makeup definitely stained and running.

A rudimentary pros and cons list is drafted, revised, deleted, and drafted once more. Sure, you didn’t have a slew of loves to compare it to, but you knew the one you had for Tony was irreplaceable. No one ever made you feel this wanted , this loved , this special .  No ex of yours left a dozen roses by your door–or waited in the car for hours while you slept. They didn’t fill their lacquer kitchen cabinets with herbal teas just because you mentioned liking them once . Hibiscus and rooibos flooded Tony’s kitchen so long as it kept you happy . Every other relationship was a caustic whirlpool. Tony was a dizzying fantasia. You gleefully closed your eyes so many times that the thought of opening them made you nauseous. 

You swallow stale bile and keep walking. 

The dusky hue in the sky grows to a fine oceanic blue above you until you gain enough sense to go home. Out of spite (and totally not because you have no other way), you take the subway home, cheeks raw from the night’s sharp wind on your tears. 

Your heels clank awkwardly on the metal descent, echoing on the platform. It’s empty, sharply different from the vamping nightlife outside. It’s not long before your train hustles down the track, stepping on to an disturbingly, equally empty train car. 

You slump into the first empty seat you see. In a calmer mood, you might’ve bothered with your phone, instead staring into your reflection on the glass pane. The gentle rocking starts soon after, and you work on putting your mind somewhere besides bergamot and red. 

Tony does not like waiting.

He would be working, if he could find even a shadow of concentration. All he can think about is you– the grit in your voice. 

At some point in his marathon around the penthouse, the small pile of glass is quietly cleaned away. Out of sheer boredom (and latent regrets), he considers creating a new one.

Why would you leave him– how could you leave him? 

In the idle night hours, pacing from room to room, Tony almost wishes you had cheated on him. Then, he could be right. He could skip past silly little thought pieces over his vices addiction and fly straight to indignity. It wouldn’t be his fault, would it? He wouldn’t have to explain a damn thing to a world that didn’t care for him.

Everyone betrayed him in the end, even you. 

With enough clarity, he might be able to see the shame hiding under all that self-righteousness, but alas. Years of practice and all. 

The best he can do for now is scalding admonishment. 

And a pinch of paranoia that his own actions caused Steve to seek you out–again. Tony knew the soldier was stupid, but that would be moronic . He made himself perfectly clear this morning, no shot Steve chose this as the method for exacting his revenge. It wasn’t a well-guarded secret amongst Tony’s circle that you were to be left ignorant, you weren’t like them . Really, he’d purposefully (and harshly) informed this as much. If Steve wanted to embarrass him then he failed succeeded miserably. The fact he would even attempt such a thing is the greater offense. 

Tony’s self-indulgent, not an idiot. Even under watered layers of complexes, he knows the greatest offense lies ten feet away on his kitchen counter. In fact, it’s what keeps him awake through the night. Awake and thinking–thinking about how fucking flawlessly he was keeping everything under wraps. This infallible image he crafted for you was gone. No longer could he hide behind a glass barrier of false separation. Foolish Tony–believing a second chance would come so freely. 

He made the same mistake twice. The odds he’d get a third chance were slim to none. At the time, he felt lucky to even have Pepper. Clearly he’s doing something worth rewarding on this Earth, because then he found you. Or, alternatively, God realized what a disservice he’d done by walking missile Tony’s way in the first place. 

You were invaluable. Nothing like his playboy flings or one-night stands. From the moment he laid eyes on you he knew his life would never be the same without you.

You promised , and he intends to make good on it even if you won’t. 

Tony can’t recall the last time he waited for a damn thing in his adult life (much less to sober up), and he doesn’t care much for starting something new today. Then, he remembers just how much patience he has for you. He waits for you patiently as you oggle every mural, piece of street art, or weird boutique. He waits as quietly as can be while you sleep, and he waited months for you to feel comfortable enough to spend consecutive nights at his home. 

There’s a pit growing in his chest–one screaming that his hard work might be swirling down the drain. How stupid he was for letting you storm off. With each passing second, you were sinking further from his grasp.

To hell with waiting. 

After all, he’s Tony Stark –he’d deny himself of nothing he desired. He didn’t work this hard to settle for less than that. 

In his defense, he does attempt to do the courteous thing of calling before showing up randomly in the middle of the night. Your phone, hopelessly abandoned deep in your purse, rings to no answer. It totally doesn’t make him more irate. 

One extremely lonely, and infuriating train ride later, you make it home. You jump when a knock vibrates through your apartment–though you know there’s only one person who’d show up in the middle of the night. Still, you tiptoe across the living to peer through the peephole anyway. While you were not super enthusiastic about seeing him outside your door this soon, the defeated slump in his shoulders gives you some satisfaction. 

A very brief, stereotypical through-the-door conversation ensues. You shout for him to leave, to which Tony provides the usual platitudes to just open the door and you respond further with a stout fuck no .  You roll your eyes at his continued pleas, and turn for your bedroom. He could sit out there and talk to the door all night like a madman if it suited him, but you weren’t going to spend a precious second on this earth listening to it. 

You don’t even make it past your couch before you hear what you swear to god cannot be your lock turning. God, Buddha, and everything else divine must have been busy, because Tony stands in the entryway, illuminated by the kitchen stove light. 

“Have you lost your mind ? Where the hell did you get a key?” 

He shrugs and looks around like it’s obvious. 

“The lease holder is usually given a key, especially if they’re paying.” 

The aghast scoff can’t wait to leap from your throat. 

“You know what, fuck you .” you spat, flying past him to the door. “No good deed , huh?” 

Somewhere between you storming out earlier in the night and his decision to come here (or maybe walking up the creaking stairs) he seems to have gotten the impression you were in a joking mood. There’s nothing but sweetness in his voice now, yet you still can’t trust that you know where his head’s at. Your night had been tumultuous enough without him showing up. 

Your fingers just barely wrap around a cool metal knob, the hall light leaving a thin warm line on your face. Tony braces a heavy palm above your head the second it does, closing it shut with a frame wobbling thud . 

“A bit rude to run out on me twice, don’t ya think?” he smirks, looking down at you. 

“A bit rude to force your dirty money on someone then hold it over their head, don’t you think?” you mock, stupidly trying to pull the handle open a second time, unbudging against Tony’s palm, biceps testing the elasticity of his silk shirt. You were getting tired of constantly feeling trapped. 

You wish you’d stay far away, in the safety of the living room where citrus didn’t take you over. Where that hopeless little part of your brain could stay quiet and not scream to wrap your arms around his torso. Also because the door doesn’t move a fucking centimeter, so it was a waste of energy regardless. 

“If you wanted someone who’d let you work yourself to death or end up on the street, you should’ve called that guy from your high school reunion back. You know–the real handsy one with the mohawk.”

“I’ll get right on that if you move out of the fucking way.” 

“Please, like I’d ever allow that.” Tony laughs, and you’re wondering why you appear as some sort of one-woman comedy act by every man in this city.

“What the hell do you want? I told you–I’m done with this.” 

He ends his chuckle with a tsk , leaving you in the living room to sit at your kitchen table. The feet of the metal chair make a discordant screech across the linoleum and he turns the seat towards you before sitting. 

“You don’t mean that, honey.” Tony smiles, tapping his shoes against the floor.

“I meant it.”

He gestures back towards the entryway.

“Nothing but space and opportunity to run away again, what’s stopping you?”

“You just said you wouldn’t let me.” You’re giving it your all not to shout, to scream at him for how insane this is. If you were still at the tower, you might not have bothered–far away from neighbors with loose lips and thin walls. 

“I’d never allow you to waste your time with someone else. Storm off as much as you like–that won’t keep you from me.” 

It’s all cool words and charisma, with a sickeningly violet weight that flips your stomach. He’s far across the space, and the door is still within inches of your grasp. 

“Find literally anyone else to sit here and play this game with you.”

“What part of ‘ I want you, and only you ’ do you not understand?” 

The kitchen stove light still illuminates his figure, casting a dim shadow over his back to shadow his figure across the floor. His feet continue to tap idly, head resting on his palms as if confused to why such a statement even needed to be told to you (again).

“You were getting along just fine before you met me, go back to that–I don’t want any part of whatever the hell else it is you’ve been lying about–”

“I’m not letting you go.”

That sweetness is his voice is pushed out to make room for pure desperation. The words waiver as they leave him, clearly fighting against whatever instinct wanted to hold it in, though you can’t help wondering if that’s all that caused the shake. An air of silence falls, where he watches you from the kitchen with stabbing eyes. Walking away is logical, but something unnatural freezes you in place. Plus, you’re not certain he wouldn’t fly to the door again the moment you touch it. 

“Why me?”

Another short silence and this time you’re the one to take advantage of it, louder than you needed to be.

“And why accuse me of sneaking around? I barely even spoke to him how the hell did you know–”

“Were you not?”

Your nostrils flare, nails digging into tight wound palms.  Water droplets leave the kitchen faucet in out of time drips. This is why your fingers shook and bore a million typos to correct. Lying to Tony Stark was one of the stupidest riskiest things you could do. 

“I just needed time to think–”

“To play Nancy Drew..” He corrects. It’s not tempered, just matter-of-factly–like a lawyer pointing out bad evidence.  

“I needed to see for myself–” 

“ Asking totally wasn’t an option.” Tony meets your volume with too much ease.

“Like you would have told me the truth !”

“I’ve never lied to you–”

“Oh, right , you only speak in half-truths, or say it’s nothing to ‘concern myself with ’!” Your anger pulls you across the creaky floors of the entryway, feet tethering on the wood boundary lining off the tile of the kitchen. 

“You’re not–”

“That’s the real reason Pepper left you, isn’t it? Not any of that bullshit you tried to sell me L.A–she left because you play like some larger-than-life billionaire and not the shady piece of shit you are.” 

You don’t have to continue your slow stampede into the kitchen, as the chair makes another unsettling screech on the tile when Tony suddenly stands. An indignation only complimentary to your own is expected, but it isn’t what you get.

“I didn’t come here to be judged by you.” His mouth barely moves to say it–as even the slightest parting would cause him to shout back and have the fight you seem to be dying to have.

“Why the hell are you here?” A better phrased, more favored question in your opinion would have been ‘ why did you break into my apartment after I dumped you? ’, but the answer’s surely the same.

Tony can glare down lasers at you as much as he likes, he’s not getting his way (for once)–you aren’t crumbling (for once).

“I need you.”

That disgusting, heart-string tugging desperation comes back and it turns out you still haven’t built your defense strong enough. You’re taken aback, because you had prepped for a full blown argument. You had enough ammo loaded up to keep this going all night. But somehow, it’s a heavier three-word declaration than I love you .  It’s not a murmur or with a racing chest. 

And it is wholly true. Life had him placed on a giant, constant stage. Where he needed to be someone else–someone stronger and with rougher edges. It kept him enclosed. Where everything he hated about himself was reflected in everyone and everything around him. That kind of cycle is self-feeding. A snake gnawing at its exhausted tail for eternity. It was a spur of the moment decision to stop for a drink that night. Truthfully, he had more than enough already coursing through his veins, but the tower felt emptier than usual in his mind, and this career warrants you very few friends. 

Maybe it was the flickering neon signs–glowing brand names across the sidewalk. The bustling noise flooded the rest of the quiet street like an overflowing bucket. It was a grimy, crowded hole in the wall–small, and cut away from the sprawling residential neighborhood around it. It reminded him of his life before he fucked it up. When no one knew his name or where he came from.

You were just an added bonus. He had planned to relish in the chaos of everyone around as he drank for inebriation instead of taste for once. But dark red nails pass him the glass, and he finds himself stuck watching them for the rest of the night. Despite the man Tony was, he wasn't anyone to you, and a woman like you shouldn’t have been anything to him.

He comes back simply out of craving. That anonymity , that freedom. From responsibility, from judgment. Tony realizes he’s befriended the snake too long. He accepted everything around him as a product of fate and piss-poor luck.You changed that. You made him remember a long forgotten fact–that everything he wanted was within arms reach. 

Suddenly, your eyes take great interest in grout speckling the tile below. There wasn’t enough room for disbelief in the quaint walls of your apartment.

“You’re the only person who doesn’t see me, as–I don’t know, me?” he exhales, running over his face as he re-takes his seat.

“You,” you trail off, shoulders loosening just to earn a small tremble. “--actually mean that.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

You’re gathering the bravado to say something along the lines of ‘ well asshole you were high as a kite when you told me you loved me and never said it again ’. Maybe without the asshole part. A difficult act indeed.

"I didn’t sign up for any of this." you murmur, trying to quench any further questions and avoid a very stern ‘ I told you so ’. But Tony's gaze remains fixed on your arm, making your nerves spike. “–if I had known everything, your work–”

“You wouldn't have agreed to see me, really ?” Tony grins and cocks an eyebrow that you miss in your deep inspection of the tile. “You weren’t clueless when we met.” 

“I wasn’t but–”

“But what?” He sharply interjects. He can’t stand how your eyes land anywhere but him. This conversation is giving him deja vu, and not the whimsical kind. It’s the kind that wraps around the body and stops the flow of blood.  “All of sudden you wanna have a ‘ come to Jesus ’ moment and find some moral high ground?”

Tony’s, unsurprisingly, not wrong. You had good enough sense the moment he slipped into that barstool, asking for a whiskey list as if the knife-shaped tear in the cushion couldn’t tell him that was pointless. A brief glance and finger of Jack Daniels was all he got from you. You spent the rest of the hour catering to the usual Friday night crowd of drunks, only thinking of him again when the shiny green bills made a funny reflection underneath his empty glass. 

Honestly, you were more surprised no one took it for themselves.

It’s when he shows up a second night that you bother with conversation (purely out of gratitude and nothing else, right?). It’s the second night when you stay so, so much later than you should have, talking to someone you knew you shouldn’t be. You ignored it all then, just as you have for the last eight months. Burying your worries under a mountain of attachment and clouds of insecurity. 

You were lucky. Shit, you feel that same gratuitous pang right now. Grateful that he still wanted you. Actually, to put it in his words– needed you. You’re not certain how much longer you could’ve kept it buried if you hadn’t asked Steve directly. You didn’t want him to be right, but all he did was validate every worry and order a swift excavation of everything you hoped wasn’t true. 

“I kept telling myself that it was nothing, but–”” you trail off quietly.

“ But ?” he repeats.

You definitely can’t meet his gaze now, waiting for him to call you naive or tell you that this is somehow some huge misunderstanding. He doesn’t speak, though, and you can’t stop your mouth from opening under the weight of everything spinning in your head.

“But Steve says you’ve been doing this since you were in college.”

“That’s how Steve tells that story?” He scoffs.

“Come on, what else? Lay it on me, doll.” You watch a misshapen shadow stretch the length of the kitchen as Tony makes a dramatic beckoning of the hand.

“Why? So you can figure out what you don’t have to admit to?”

He takes a deep sigh that shifts into a short chuckle.

“You’ve been told a very half-cocked story, my apologies for trying to fix that. Trust me, Steve’s had it out for me for a while now.”

“I trust him a lot more than you right now.” 

“That would be a bad choice.” 

You snap your head up at the scorn. Where you gained this inclination to shoot back at everything with fire–you don’t know. You swear it’s just Tony, where sometimes you just want to match his arrogance tenfold.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that? I’ve learned more about you from him and so far, he hasn’t been wrong.”

“You know more about me than anyone, without running around behind my back.” 

“Yeah, there's just the woman you’re still married to, the cocaine in your bathroom, your company, whatever the hell it is you do while I’m sleeping because you surely aren’t–”

“Alright, alright, okay,” he interrupts, tossing his hands up in defeat and leaning back. “Would you just sit down for a sec–humor me, will you?”

Sullenly, you pull out the matching metal chair across from him. As you sit, folding your arms over your chest, you wonder how fate has aligned that you’ve met such an infuriating and intoxicating person. And why you were even giving this hail mary display the time of day. 

“Let me tell you a story, it’s a good one, swear.” Tony flashes a diamond grin and it takes everything in you not to return it. It does cool your nerves somewhat.

“Better be a good one.” you respond, and Tony promises it’s worth hearing. 

“I’m in my last year at MIT taking this exam for this real stick-up-his-ass professor–I’m talking this guy doesn’t have the muscles required to smile, just all nonsense. It’s my last godforsaken test before winter break and I’ve gotta pass this to be done with this soul-sucking school–”

“You? Stressing about school? Already this story’s got holes in it.” 

“Did you miss the part about this guy being a hardass? Because I could’ve sworn I mentioned it.”

“The test was all about theory and it didn’t matter how much you knew, you had to answer it the way he would. I actually had to focus for once and I’m on this question about integrating quantum computing with electrical grid systems, you know how the ions might–”

“Totally, right.” you remark once you realize a science lecture is inbound. Tony’s ramblings often came late and always flew completely over your head. Tonight, you’re just finding it hard to care. 

“You are a really bad listener, you know that?” 

That earns an instinctive smirk from you, but you sigh and let him continue.

“I’m ten equations and at least five paragraphs into this question and my pager starts going off. I don’t even bother checking what it is–I just hit silence and keep going.” he tells it like it’s a true epic, the sort you swap at tailgates or weddings to try to one-up someone else’s, but you get the sense it’s not. 

“An hour later with like, the worst cramp in my hand and 500% certainty I failed, no big deal, I finally check the message–call Jarvis back and he tells me my parents were in an accident. The weirdest thing was I didn’t even think they were dead–” 

“Tony–” you start, though you weren’t even sure what to say. 

“Honestly,” he chuckles dryly, the bravado in his voice silking away. “I was kinda relieved, for a second. The old man would’ve ripped me a new one for failing that test and I just thought he was a little banged up–too busy nursing a broken arm or something to check my grades.”

Tony’s laugh fades off into a somber sigh, shifting in the wobbling chair. The count of drips in the sink to your right tells you it’s been silent too long. You still don’t have the words to fill it. What kind of words would they even be? Of comfort? Humor to dispel his sadness? If he even was , that is. You gave up on trying to read him. 

“Anyway, my point is . I wasn’t ready to do this– I was 21, getting an electrical engineering degree, notice how that has nothing to do with medicine or biotech. So I did the cowardly thing–let someone else take the wheel and I’m still paying for it twenty years later. Believe me, I’m not loving this either.”

“Then why don’t you stop? I mean you still have a legitimate company, stop using it to make things you don’t want to make.” 

“It sounds so incredibly simple when you put it like that. Gee, wonder why I didn’t think of that earlier.” He makes an exaggerated face of amazement. “Look, I didn’t want you to know because I don’t need someone else telling me how to handle things–it’s my company, it’s my job to sort this out.”

“Does your job require you to test the product yourself?” It’s a lot ruder than you mean it to be, but it’s the real issue corroding your mind. 

“That’s one of the benefits we offer at Stark Industries.” he laughs. 

You still aren’t feeling humorous, scoffing and standing the moment you realize he isn’t taking a word you say seriously. Tony’s fast behind you, stepping between you and the arch into the living room. 

“Okay, okay. But you’re worrying yourself over nothing, doll. I’ve got it handled.” he assures you (poorly), bracing your shoulders with his hands. 

“Yeah, from here it looks totally handled.”

Contrary to the snare in your words, you weren’t a heartless monster. You weren’t playing moral adjudicator like Tony might think. You can recognize this as one of his rare moments of emotional theater, but you can’t be bothered to care knowing what comes after if you fall for it. Especially when you can tell from how not-serious he’s taking this that there’s not a chance he’d stop using anytime soon. You were just tired of being lied to. And you weren’t going to keep watching him self-destruct. All you needed right now was your bed and hot, long shower to put this day behind you.

Tony sighs, abandoning your shoulders to pinch his nose.

“It’s just…You experience things and then they're over and you still can't explain 'em. This business, Pepper, things I can’t even put into words. I...I'm just trying to make sense of it all. The only reason I haven't cracked up is probably because you’re around a lot more. Which is great. I do love you, I'm lucky. But, honey, I can't sleep, not when there's so much to be done to get out of this.”

You’re stunned into silence again. Because Tony speaks a thousand miles a minute and you’re still getting used to hearing ‘ I love you ’ from a sober mouth.

“Tony, this isn’t–” you stammer.

“I know, I know, you’re gonna say this doesn’t change anything but I can’t do that without you, I won’t.” 

Calloused hands brace your sides instead. Warm and loose instead of strict and holding. You can feel the static though. There’s an electric heat jumping between fingertips and white fabric that wants to hold you tight until you can’t tell the difference between his skin and yours. You’ll never see it another time so clearly, but the glaze in Tony’s eyes is desperate– unyielding . You’re scared to give in and only slightly less worried about what it means if you don’t.

You were pissed that he kept something from you– again . You still were. The whole world seemed privy to exactly who Tony Stark was, except you. You were an outsider looking in through frosted window panes. Like the new kid watching everyone else giggle at an inside joke you couldn't possibly understand. 

But you couldn’t say he didn’t care for you. The most damning part was that you loved him . Whether it was truly reciprocated was another question, but you couldn’t think of any other reason he’s standing in your kitchen at three in the morning, letting the stained brown walls wash out the blue details in his suit vest. 

So, you rather than blindly submit, you place a wager. 

“Then promise me you’ll get help.” You force your voice to be stable, confident. You meet his eyes with the same bravado, stepping back from his grasp. If done properly, and he needed you as much as he so claimed, then you win your self-made bet.

You notice he doesn’t reach out to hold you close, instead staring pensively into you for a moment longer than you would like.

 “Okay, done.” he answers, shrugging nonchalantly. “That all?”

“Really? That simple?” you ask, baffled

Tony shrugs again, the crisp folds of his vest giving way to a stout laugh then a sigh.

“If that’s what it takes.”

Afterwards, you’re able to easily separate your life into three segments. There’s life before you started dating billionaire Anthony Edward Stark, life after, and life when you started dating Tony . They are too separate individuals, afterall. You learn that in due time. 

Anthony Edward Stark is a wealthy businessman, arrogant, withholding, charming, and a few notches above dedicated to you. He hates vegan food and wasting time.He's utterly hopeless in the kitchen, with a preference for iron red and a penchant for dry martinis (always dry, you learned this from serving him a classic out of habit on night two). There’s a collection of Black Sabbath albums hiding under his office desk, and there’s a slightly larger collection of ballpoint pens in the trash can nearby–caps gnawed to uselessness in one too many spirals of concentration.

Tony is much the same, in all respects. Eeeeexcept there’s that ex-wife he seemingly abhors. And the designer powdered death he proliferates through the city. And the addiction he promises to hold at bay. He keeps his end of the bargain, though and vicariously becomes someone new once he sleeps a whole lot more. Okay, okay so there's a lot. Overall, he is calmer. The fiery temper is dulled, replaced with an occasional unwarranted annoyance at the most mundane of things. At first, it’s concerning to you–watching his face screw at tailgating cars or broken zippers. Then, you find it pretty amusing, seeing someone so perfectly sewn together furrow their brows at long lines instead of losing it altogether at moments of chaos. Though you quickly figure out why he avoided sleep in the first place. 

It doesn’t happen until your third night back at the tower. A drizzle coats the high windows of the bedroom, the moonlight barely enough to see the rise and fall of his chest beside you. You’re deep into sleep, curled into Tony when you’re jolted awake by a sudden movement. Your eyes flicker open, confused and scanning the silk sheets before he twitches again, muttering in his sleep.

Barely awake, you shifted onto your side, planting a hand on his chest. With his arms no longer wrapped around your side, another twitch sends them flying to his chest.  His skin was warm, damp, mutterings continuing to fall from his lips–angry broken pleas for someone or something to stop. You’d think the windows were open with how bad he shivered.

“Tony,” you called out softly, rocking his shoulder. “Wake up.” 

It takes a few more attempts, each shake growing stronger as you gain more clarity. One of them must have woken him, arms leaving his chest to push your arms away. Fresh off a nightmare and no more awake than you were, he used much more force than needed, completely overshooting your hands to inadvertently strike your cheek.

You winced at the unexpected blow, your hand instinctively flying to your slight sting. Swearing softly, you met his wide-eyed gaze. He moves away from you in the same instant, breathing heavily at the edge of the bed

“Shit–I’m sorry– Fuck,” His hands ran across his face and through his hair more times than you can count, still struggling to catch his breath. “I didn’t know you–”

“It’s okay-Are you okay?” you interrupted, far more concerned about the way how terrified he sounded in his sleep and barely feeling it anymore regardless.

“Yeah, all good, bad dream.” Tony swung his legs over the edge, head resting in his hands. “Shit, that shouldn’t have happened.”

You wanted to press him about it, but decided against it while his voice is this shaky. 

Instead, you move to sit behind him and run a hand over the soft skin of his back until his breath returns to normal. You don’t say anything when the shakes turn to muffled sobs. Instead, you move to sit behind him and run a hand over the soft skin of his back until his breath returns to normal.

Neither of you speak about it. Not then, the next morning, or ever again. It just becomes a new part of reality. Anthony Edward Stark doesn’t sleep. Tony has nightmares that can turn into full panic attacks and render him a tremoring mess. Afterwards, he takes a cold shower and returns to bed without a word. Not that you know what to say anyway.

This is somehow harder. To watch him lose control. You were, as most lovers are, impeccably biased. Tony’s life was enviable to anyone with a brain, and yet he was as fractured as anyone.

“Honey, you plan on eating?” he asks, tapping the rim of your porcelain plate with his fork. 

You’re brought out of your deep thoughts and back into the present where roasted lemon fills your nostrils from the salmon below. You blame the restaurant–far too quiet to keep from drifting off. The candlelight flickers gently over the small table, creating small dancing shadows of you and Tony on the white linen. 

You met his inquisitive brown eyes, giving a small apology before grabbing the cold metal fork. Despite its mouth-watering smell, the taste is anything but. You attempt to hide your displeasure, but such an act is useless this close. 

“What’s wrong?” Tony abandons his own meal to question you. 

"Nothing, it's just... a little overcooked for my taste," you reply, trying to sound lighthearted. You were never the kind of person to send a meal back, and certainly weren't about to start at a place with a Michelin star.

“Could have sworn you ordered medium.” His posture stiffens, eyebrows raised. 

“Simple mistake, it happens.” you shrugged, preparing for a second attempt. 

You don’t get the chance, as Tony stands abruptly, grabbing the plate before your fork could make an impression. 

“Be right back." he assures you, a cold detachment in his voice. 

Without waiting for a response, he strides away from the table, towards the back of the restaurant, leaving you confused. 

After a few moments of waiting, a sense of unease begins to gnaw at you. You rise from your seat and, with hesitant steps, vaguely follow the path he took to a set of wide swinging doors. The soft glow of the overhead lights illuminates the narrow hallway, casting long shadows against the walls.

As you approach the kitchen, a waiter hurriedly scurries out, giving you a glimpse of Tony inside, one hand typing away idly at his phone and the other resting on a prep table, wrapped tightly in a blue rag. 

Blood stains the pristine white of the chef's uniform, his nose crimson and dripping onto his graying beard as he flips a fresh piece of salmon. He spares you a brief timid glance when the doors swing. One hand dabs poorly at the splotches while the other white-knuckles a metal spatula. With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you step cautiously into the kitchen, abandoning the warm lights of the hallway for the fluorescent kitchen overheads.

"Oh, hey there," Tony says casually, an icy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

 “He’s remaking your salmon.” he explains enthusiastically, returning his attention to his phone.

You stand frozen, watching crimson bleed through the rag. You guessed the chef didn’t take too kindly to criticism, and you know Tony doesn’t take no for an answer. 

Maybe you didn’t know what calm looked on Tony after all. 

You assume you should be grateful. Grateful that he did as you asked and stopped hiding behind his own layers. You got exactly what you wanted after, Tony, wholly and entirely bare for you to see. No more paranoia that you weren’t enough or that this would all come crashing you both down into murky waters. Well, there was still a chance of that. Only now the waves are crystal clear, revealing everything you begged to see. 

At least he got more sleep this way. 

You relished in waking up next to him–when it wasn’t from night tremors, of course. You could watch the sun streak through the curtains and glow around his features, calm and peaceful. It’s a moment of absolute solitude you look forward to each night. Listening to nothing but the faint calls of birds and muffled rumblings as the city woke up 93 floors. You bide the time hill wakes by running your fingers along his chest and shoulder, memorizing scars by feeling alone.

This morning you awake too early, daybreak barely starting and an inability to fall back asleep. Quietly, you pull yourself from Tony’s tight embrace and tiptoe your way downstairs for a cup of tea. You forgo bothering with the lights, getting enough light from the shy horizon to make your way around. You open the kitchen fridge in the hopes of finding a lemon, only to jump nearly out of your skin when a sound comes from the island behind you. 

“ Christ !” you yelped, slamming the door shut and turning to the source.

Harley laughs and takes another bite of his apple, making the same loud crunch as a moment ago. “Aw, did I scare you?”

“What is with you people and sitting in the damn dark?” you question rhetorically, walking to the end of the kitchen to turn on the lights. You tighten the short silk robe around your pajamas, standing across from him. “I was trying to surprise the old man for his birthday, which you are ruining, by the way.” he remarks, pointing a wagging finger. 

“Tony’s birthday?” you ask, confused. “I didn’t know–”

The young man interrupts with a dismissive wave as he swallows another bite. “He doesn’t like to make a ‘ thing ’ of it, don’t sweat.” He gives complimentary air quotes, sitting back in the barstool.

“Fair enough.” You turn back to the cabinets to complete your original task. Behind you, Harley’s teeth piercing the fruit fills the early morning silence, interrupted by the flicker of the stove as you heat the kettle. You feel him eyeing you the entire time but decide not to feed into this time for your own peace. 

“Thanks, by the way.” Hot water is making its way into a lilac mug when he speaks again. 

“For, y’know.” he adds when you pivot with a puzzled face.

“No, I don’t know.” you respond exasperatedly, feeling a dig coming your way. You dip the tea bag into the water, stirring as he just stares back at you. You roll your eyes and head towards the stairs, deciding for certain that conversation with that kid was pointless.

“Were you not the one who got him clean?” He waits until your feet touch the first step to say it, forcing you to pivot.

“I’m not taking credit for his life choices.”

“Fair enough.” he mimics your tone from earlier with a gentle shrug. 

With that, you leave and retreat back upstairs.

The lukewarm tea slides down your throat with better ease in the bedroom. Tony continues to sleep beside you as the sun greets the sky, until you're drifting off too.. 

When you rise again, the chaotic rumbling of the city drifts up and through the windows in full force. You stretch out slowly, tuning into the sound of Tony’s voice and staticky music from the bathroom. You flip over to the source, seeing Tony at the sink fixing a slender graphite tie to his neck. Quiet as a mouse and far too comfortable to leave the silk sheets, you simply observe through the open door. Unaware to his spectator, he continues half-singing half-muttering  verse after verse of Back in Black . You have to stifle a giggle–not in judgment but in adoration. You didn’t think Tony Stark would belt rock lyrics as he cursed his hair for not blow drying exactly how he wanted. 

Eventually, he spots your watchful eyes, after he secures chrome cufflinks and stoops down to straighten his pants. You smile when you realize you're caught. 

“Hopefully you’re enjoying the show.” he grins, exiting the bathroom as he loops a thick leather belt around his waist. 

“It’s alright, could have better acoustics.” you taunt. 

Tony feigns offense as he kneels on the bed beside you. The soft mattress doesn’t make a sound for his weight to settle over top of you. Suddenly beneath him, cypress aftershave and evergreen shampoo drown out your senses. You know he’s not doing this to turn you on, it’s a byproduct of his nature–but now you just want to ruin the hair you watched him spend five minutes perfecting.

“Anyone else would be appreciative to AC/DC , or is that beyond your generation?” Tony asks, bracing an arm beside your head to fiddle with a free strand of hair. 

“I worked in a dive bar–think I know dad rock when I hear it.”

“Ouch.” he winces, a short chuckle following after. 

“Hey, never said it was bad.” you add, and he gives you a questionable hmm in response.

You’re fixated on the way his body compresses your own–the texture of his thumb on your face.

 “Happy birthday, by the way.” you say after a moment of silence. To this he stiffens, his gentle expression changing in the same way. 

“Hmm, guess that is today.” he muses. 

“I take it you haven’t been downstairs yet, then.” you say, thinking of Harley. Tony groans you curse the loss of his weight as he stands. 

“Nope, and I already know the kid’s down there raiding my refrigerator and getting crumbs everywhere.” There’s a strong disdain in his voice, reminding you of the phone call a few weeks ago.

He disappears back to the bathroom, swiping a watch from the granite sink. You stay silent in the airy cloud of sheets, tongue dancing behind your teeth. Clearly, a moment of silence is too telling for Tony. While you're fixated on the ceiling, he creeps back into the room, startling you when he hits the bed once more.

“You want him gone, say the word.” he declares, playfully. You’re barely listening, or really even bothered to think about Harley. It’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the fact that he’s  just hovering over you and not crushing you into the mattress or kissing you or –

Your train of thought is derailed when a hand laces behind your neck, fingers settling at your nape and a thumb below your chin. Tony smirks when your eyes flicker to his, increasing the pressure with his thumb until your lips part for air.

“I believe I asked you a question, doll.” He relents for a moment, only enough for your throat to strain as you answer.

“I don’t mind.” you whisper, letting your legs graze his suit pants. There was a small hope the cool fabric would soothe the warmth breaking out on your skin, but the itch just drives you insane.

“Good.” Tony releases his grip to plant a kiss on your forehead. In the next breath, his feet touch the floor again and you contemplate if the lost pride is worth begging him to touch you. 

You don’t get a chance to decide, as he gives some short winded promise about returning before the afternoon and exits the bedroom.

After a frustrating shower, and against both Harley and Jarvis’ better judgment (and very stern insistences), you decide to do something nice for Tony’s birthday. Well, as nice as you can without spending his own money.

It takes the better half of the day, and you have to ban a persistently nosy frat kid from the studio the entire time. You feel guilty about not knowing sooner. Then, you maybe would’ve pulled off something more his style. And then maybe like the finished product. It feels, and honestly, looks rushed (because it is), but in the end you feel worse about giving him nothing after all he’s done for you. 

It’s a small canvas–easy enough for you to carry down the spiral stairs without breaking an ankle. It’s a quarter to three when you make the final stroke. Once you’ve managed to get the stained ink from your fingers, voices start to flood from downstairs. You manage to do a half-decent job wrapping, which gets you way too excited to gift it. Sure, you’d given art as presents to friends before, but not since you were 10 and those were C-tier cards at best. This wasn’t your best work, though it still gave you the same sense of love. 

You call out Tony’s name as you head downstairs, hearing his and Harley’s voices echo from the living room. The muffled words are sharp and tense. You don’t notice the third voice over theirs, or the thud of the feet. You don’t even see her until you enter the space. 

“Well, who do we have here, Tone’?” Two rows of perfect porcelain teeth gleam at you over Tony’s shoulder.

He turns to you the moment she speaks, brows tighter than a steel drum and fists tight by his side. Harley stifles his chuckle behind the kitchen island. 

Silence pulls new red heat to your cheeks. The living embodiment of every insecurity you’d forgotten stood ten feet away in Louboutin heels. Tony’s stories painted enough of a picture of a flawless woman. Actually seeing her, now that was new territory. Her strawberry blonde locks were meticulously curled, in a mauve dress without a single wrinkle in sight. You felt embarrassed with your undone hair,  in stained clothes and matching ink-ridden hands. 

You start an equally embarrassing stammer of your name, to which Tony interrupts.

“Nope, not a chance.” He meets your eyes with fire before turning back to Pepper. “How the hell did you get up here–Actually, I don’t even want to know. Leave now.” 

Pepper grins like they're old friends catching up. You feel like you shouldn’t be witness to whatever this is, awkwardly holding the canvas.

“Aw, Tony ,” she drags out with a click of her tongue. A slender hand reaches down into a thin leather briefcase, placing an envelope on the island. “Just thought I’d give you your present in person.”

“An email would have sufficed.” He grits.

“Well that wouldn’t be very polite, hm?” She cocks her head like it’s a serious question. 

“Exit is directly behind you.” 

Some quippy remark brews and dies on her tongue. A small glance is spared your way again, before she leaves.

Tony doesn’t move until the whir of the elevator starts. Harley clears his throat and retreats to the back hallway without another word.

“Tony–” you call out as he passes you for the stairs. He grants you a dismissive wave that cuts you short and swells your throat. All but stomping he makes his way up the stairs, leaving you alone with all the tension they left behind.

The white envelope goes unattended. Tony didn’t bother with it, but you do. Setting your gift against the stair railing, you tiptoe over to it. It’s unsealed–a solitary white letter tucked away. The ornate New York State emblem is a pale distraction for the words below. 

ᴜɴᴄᴏɴᴛᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴘᴇᴛɪᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴅɪᴠᴏʀᴄᴇ 

An agreement for complete dissolution separation of any and all assets for both parties.

Signed by Pepper Potts in midnight ink.

[password-door-lock]

“Boss,” you stammer, slamming the door to the intelligence room behind you. “Bossbossbossbossboss.” It comes out sounding like one very, very long word as you practically catapult yourself into Unknown's arms.

He didn't ask you to do that, but he doesn't particularly mind— it seems like you know your place at Magenta: on his lap, where he can keep an eye on you and stop you from wreaking whatever havoc you've got your heart set on at the moment. “What is it?” He asks, expecting more of the same nonsense that you always try to serve him in moments such as this one.

“Okay, so, as you know, you told me to go find something useful to do and leave you alone,” you recount, “Presumably because you're doing something so horrible that you don't even want me to see it, which says an awful lot, considering all the shit you've let me see already.” You're not entirely wrong there, but Unknown doesn't bother letting you know. You can press as much as you want, but he's never going to give you any more information than he sees fit.

“Yes,” Unknown agrees instead, nebulously allowing you to fill in the blanks for yourself. A month ago, he would have been certain that you'd make up some nonsense and be wrong about it, but he has learned that it's better not to underestimate you. His assistant is many things, but stupid is not one of them. Unobservant, perhaps. Dependent, of course. Annoying, even— but never stupid.

“Right,” you shake your head, before promptly nestling into his embrace as if you're seeking comfort. You're wildly misguided if you think you're going to get it from him— but, then, Unknown doesn't need to tell you that. “Well, anyway. So I thought, why don't I clean the water heater?”

“What water heater?” Unknown has never seen anything like that during his time at Magenta, and he's spent quite a while here.

“It's in the basement,” you wave him off, like it means nothing that you went down there without his permission. “There's this little door, and it's blocked with this cart thing, so I unblocked it, and then there's this tiny room with just this water heater that's like, well, you know, it heats water— anyway, it takes up half the room, and—”

“Did I tell you to go down there?” Unknown tightens his grip on you. If you'd been in the basement at the wrong time, you could have seen something much worse than what would have been on his screen had you stayed by his side. And the fact that you knew enough about the water heater to think of cleaning it suggests that you’ve been down there before and seen it already— he isn’t pleased with this development. Does he really have to keep an eye on you all the time to stop you from causing trouble?

“You said to be useful,” you counter, “And I was being useful.”

Unknown groans. “Then what's the matter?” He has no idea what you saw or who you ran into. The basement is not a pretty place, after all, and you’re quite timid, all things considered. If he wanted you to go down there, then he would have sent you himself. 

“I saw a bug!” You squeal, dramatic as always. “And it was terrifying. Comfort me.” 

It irks him that you think you get to give him orders, but nevertheless, Unknown heaves a sigh of relief. He can't believe he was ever actually that worried over his assistant— as if anyone in paradise would be enough of a fool to lay a hand on you. With the exception of the Savior, nobody around here would even think of trying something like that. And you wouldn't have stalled so long if anything had happened, anyway... you'd have called him to the scene immediately, and Unknown would have dealt with it on the spot. “That's it? You see bugs every day, prince(ss). I’m not going to coddle you every time.” 

“Yes, but this one was technically in my home,” you protest with a shudder, “So it’s at least five times scarier. And it was huge— I think it was some kind of cockroach or something.” 

“Hm.” Unknown considers this information. He doesn’t really follow, but he also doesn’t want to prolong this bug discussion any longer than he has to. It’s better if you just drop it and let him get back to work. 

“Anyway, it ran in front of the water heater as soon as I opened the door,” you complain, “I don’t know how the hell it got in there, or if there’s others, or anything like that—  I just slammed the door and blocked it again, and then ran back here as fast as I could to tell you that there's a bug by the water heater, which I did not clean. For your information.”

Unknown huffs. Honestly, he should have known better than to turn you loose in the first place. Even if he had explicitly told you to avoid the basement, you would have found a way down there anyway. You may be more clever than he originally gave you credit for, but that doesn’t seem to have much bearing on your listening skills, which have proven to be severely lacking.

“That's why we don't go sticking our nose where it doesn't belong,” he purrs, enjoying the way that you retreat entirely into his embrace, pressing your face against his chest. Yes, that's how it should be... you should depend on him, rely on him, revel in the feeling of his attention, his fingers in your hair or his lips against your ear. You should be his, wholly and completely, bending to his whims and changing your shape to fit inside of his grasp. That's the only way. “Just stay with me, assistant. I'll look after you, since you can't figure out how to do it yourself.” If your reaction to a single cockroach was so passionate, he can’t imagine what you would have done if you’d actually encountered something scary— but if he keeps you here, then neither one of you will ever have to find out. 

“Sure,” your soft concession feels like a victory. Unknown just hums in response, returning to his work as you continue to cling to him. He won’t comfort you, of course, but he will allow himself to give you this.

[fastnights]

confessions

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you confess your feelings to eddie but does he feel the same way about you?

i don’t give anyone permission to copy my work!

you were getting packed up for a sleepover at nancy’s, you two always had sleepovers ever since you both were little, even now that you two are older and high schoolers you both still did the same things that you’ve both done when you were younger, like gossip and talk about boys but also plans after graduation. you knew exactly what you wanted to do when you were done with high school, finally move from out of the state and go to college of course. but there’s something that is bothering you, you have the biggest crush on the town’s freak eddie munson, the only person who knew about your crush was nancy since she is your best friend. she thought you and eddie would make a cute couple if you ever decided to tell him how you feel, the thing is that it’s not the easy to come out and say how you feel because anything can happen good or bad.

it didn’t take you long to pack as soon as you were finished nancy was already in your driveway waiting for you to step out of the house, you quickly made it over to her car. “hello, nance, i’m so excited for girls night at your place, i miss it when we were younger.” you said. “me too, y/n. i’m so excited for our girls’ night. this is going to be a fun night just you and me.” she said as she pulled out of your driveway and drove over to her house. your mind wondered off about eddie, thinking about his smile, his cute brown eyes and his curly brown hair. nancy snapped you out of your daydream, you didn’t realize that she finally pulled up into her driveway. “oh, i’m sorry nance, i guess my mind wondered off for a bit.” you said as you laughed a bit. “no need to worry, it’s totally fine now let’s go inside so we can get this girl’s night started.” she said you nodded your head and you took your things and got out of the car and went into the house.

the sleepover was unforgettable something you always missed. you and nancy don’t do sleepovers so often but luckily you both wanted this one. you opened up to her about finally stepping out of your zone and may confess your feelings to eddie, nancy agreed that you should do it one day but she was pushing you to do it right away, she knows it’s not that easy to confess how you feel towards someone you like but she sure did boost up your confidence, maybe tonight you’ll confess after the meeting when no one is around listening or you’ll just keep it inside like always.

tonight’s game really wasn’t all that great, you wasn’t paying attention, it was hard for you to stay focus, which lead to being out of the game. it was so unlike you to be out of the game right away, you literally be in the game much longer but this time is different and eddie knows there’s something up with you and he will get the answers to why you’re being the way you are, he knows your behavior is so uncalled for.

the campaign was over and you honestly was excited you were ready to leave but just when you were about to leave out of the door, eddie called you back. “hey y/n can we talk for a second?” he asked. you knew what was gonna happen next, he definitely gonna question your behavior during the campaign. “um sure, what is it that you want to talk to me about?” you asked. before you could even hear him out you honestly wished you walked out when everyone else did.

“i just want to know is everything okay? you’ve been acting weird since the campaign started.” eddie said. you looked at eddie and nodded your head, “yup, i’m totally fine eddie no need to worry about me, i’m fine.” you said. it wasn’t completely a lie, i mean you were fine and not fine at the same time but you didn’t want him worrying about you then you’ll be in this room with him longer than expected knowing that nancy is probably still outside waiting on you to come out of the building.

mike ran back in the room, he’s a little out a breath because he ran back into the school just to tell you that nancy is waiting on you.

“are you coming y/n nancy says hurry now.” mike said.

“yeah, you know what no, i’m gonna catch a ride with eddie, tell nance she doesn’t have to worry i have a ride home. i mean that’s if you don’t mind eddie?” you asked.

“of course not, i’ll drive you home.” he said as he gave you a smile. mike ran out of the room as you got your stuff ready to go home, it’s finally time to tell eddie how you feel no matter how hard it is.

shortly you and eddie made it out of building you both walked to his van and got inside, you looked over at him and smiled, “eddie i want to apologize about the way i was acting today at the game, like i should’ve been more focused but something is bothering me.” you said.

“and what’s that?” he asked

“that’s the thing, it’s not that easy to talk about.”

“try me.”

he pulled out of the school’s parking lot and started to drive you home, you stared out the window before you began to confess your feelings for him.

“well eddie i um, how can i put this? well for awhile i been having these um what you call feelings for you, i know we’re friends and close and all but i felt like this was gonna happen anyway, i didn’t want it to happen but it did which makes me nervous because i don’t know how you feel and you might think i’m crazy to fall for you.” you said, just when you were done confessing he pulled into your driveway, you was waiting on him to say something but he didn’t which shocked you.

you felt embarrassed, you couldn’t even look at him, you grabbed your things and got out his van quickly, you didn’t dare to look back to see how he looked, you clearly want to avoid him from now on, you walked up to your doorstep and went inside your house. when you got to your room you was gonna spill everything to nancy about how the conversation went.

[moonchildstyles]

Angel sprawled on Harry’s bed with papers all around her just the sight of her gets to him :( calling her name softly checking just how deep in sleep she is :( and when she doesn’t whine and pout :( he sits beside her collecting her papers putting them aside :( kissing her cheeks softly “baby angel” she’s deep in her sleep she doesn’t even lean into his kisses like she usually does :( when he tries to get up he feels a hand on his waist “no daddy” a smile on his face erupts at the sound of her voice “oh hello, angel” she gets up wrapping her arms around his neck nuzzling her face into his chest his hand run up and down her back :( “can daddy get a kiss angel?” She looks up at him kissing his lips softly but he pulls away after a couple of kisses when he tastes wine holding her chin in place “have you been drinking…?” She nods quickly hugging him “only had one glass…promise” he lets out a laugh pulling her onto his lap giving her a look she unfolds quickly “It’s just I couldn’t do the assignment and decided to take a break” she looks up at him he nods for her to continue “-but I couldn’t even take the break cause all I was thinking about was how I’m not doing the assignment and Sarah told me I should drink a little and I did but” he kisses her lips “but what baby?” smirking at her hand cradling her cheek “it felt weird without you I-I didn’t know how much to pour and then I poured too much and I thought I wouldn’t drink it all but I did and then I felt so slee-“ he kisses her lips cutting her off “could’ve asked me” thumb grazing her lower lip “y-you were working didn’t wanna bother you” playing with his curls :((( “you bothering me? Never angel” placing kisses all over her face :(( and then she’d apologize for drinking and he’d have to tell her that it’s okay she handled it well :((🧸

BESTIE BEAR YOU GOT ME SO BAD LIKE YOU REALLY KNOW ME.....:(((((( like she rarellyyyyyy drinks w/o him so I can so see her being nervous about it and like worried she wasn't supposed to while he was gone:( and just being like not sure how much to pour or what wine to drink to anything like that like :( and him just being so good to her helping put her things away and holding him while shes talking to him and like :( she can always ask him if she needs help with literally need Anything but also shes a big girl she can drink whenever she wants to she doesn't need his permission and doesn't need to apologize for it:( and im so dead inside thinking about "you bothering me?" LIKE THATS SOOOOOOOO HIM :(((((((( SHE COULD NEVER EVER EVER :( im literally so rn :(

[sissa-arrows]

That french show "j'irai dormir chez vous- Algérie" received so much (negative) attention, when they posted the teaser it was already the most number of views the show had gotten, but a lot of people expressed their deception after watching the whole thing and many speculated the episode was made specifically to tarnish Dzayer's image.

Antoine had been to Kabylie and Ghardaïa , hadn't met police there, when he went to our Sahara close to the borders he was asked to have a local guide, he refused so instead of kicking him out, the police proposed that a civil followed him from afar to ensure his safety , he did not refuse, he then wanted to get a permission to adventure outside of the city that was refused.

The security agents had all been dressed in civil and calmly talked to him, they shouldn't have been filmed yet he filmed them, they explained that they weren't worried about the city or its lovely people, that it was safe but they wanted to be extra safe, the country is just opening up to tourism and receiving so much hate, it also has troubled borders, so while it is safe tourists (even Algerian) need to be accompagnied with a guide in the Sahara, a lost or dead journalist would not do good to the country's image.

With all that in mind, Antoine really said: oh i get it now you want to keep me safe to give Algeria a good image, no problem i'll give you a completely different reason to worry. And it become a subject of trends between all those journalists outside who has a job to criticize everything relateed to the country, they need to earn money after all.

All of this doesn't bother me, French ppl who come here have the tendency to bring out the worst in us, we are used to it, the police should have been more subtle or told him off right off the bat, altho you do imagine that they'd still be criticied no matter what (if they didn't care and something bad happened , if they were more stern, or laid back) But the realiy is that this whole fuss is made because a white man ws stopped in a third world country.

It's easy to reverse the situation, if i, an Algerian had been to France to film an emission and the police stopped me from going to a certain place alone, worried about my safety, and filmed it, i would be the one criticized for being irresponsible for not cooperating. But when a white man does it, he he is denouncing corruption and toxic behavior , while he sounds objectively completely insane (not to mention offensive with his offhanded comments on M'zab women and the Kabylie status) Even though we all know how are people can be treated aboard, it is always assumed it is our fault, but never the fault of the more responsible white man on backwarded countries.

Also just one thing, the security wasn't aware he was a jornalist at first and Algerians are also stopped when they want to wonder alone in the desert, it doesn't have to do with nationality, although yes french channels are usually kept abay, it doesn't have to do with colonialism as much as their more recent behavior . Also there has been a case of a european tourist dying in the desert last year, i assume security was blamed then.

(sorry for info dumping ;-; the previous anon made me think, i didn't know where to put this)

The first time I wandered alone in the Sahara with my grandparents we wanted to cross the border with Mali, we had the paperwork and all but the border agents said no. They said only my grandpa could cross the border but not my grandma or me. The feminist inside me got angry and then the border agent was like “My sister, the Malian authorities told us there was potential terrorists near the border and that it wasn’t safe for women right now that you could get kidnapped. So sit down I’m not letting you cross the border.” The feminist inside me immediately calmed down 😂

But yeah all of that to say that if he was in the Sahara it 100% makes sense that the authorities were watching over him. Some places are protected too and only Kel Tamasheq/Touareg can go there. There’s also the area around Tindouf and the border with Western Sahara…

Anyway thank you for all the informations!!

[askbohemiancompany]

Somebody Home

(Previous)

Gingerly, Grohl began to open his eyes. While there was still the red mark, Lonnie said to the others it will fade away after sometime. The tangrowth almost wanted to keep them closed. Any light felt to intense now.

“Grohl!” Gwen sounded relieved. She did not care if this zoroark would give her shit for showing affection.

Or at least before she stopped herself. Grohl was still recovering, she had to be mindful of that.

After an awkward pause, both Grohl and Gwen looked at each other. Gwen had the smile that Grohl had only seen a few times, but he knew the likely reason why she was smiling.

“How long was I out for?” The tangrowth asked, almost ready to hear a few months.

“You have been out for two weeks. Lenox pulled some strings and had a friend’s darkrai come to help jump start your brain.” There was apprehension to advise on the potential concern for how much the dark type saw of his memory. It could have been any number of things the two did not disclose to others.

“Could you give me and Grohl some privacy please?”

With that, the zoroark nodded and left the hospital room, leaving the two alone.

“Grohl. Can I ask you a question? Please be honest with me on this,” there was a lull. Both were nervous over what the other was going to say. Gwen had to bite the bullet. “Did I...ever make you feel uncomfortable about saying something?”

Well shit. The tangrowth realized everyone likely knew about his medical condition. He had to clear the air about why he did not tell anyone.

“Not at all. I just did not want to have anyone worry about my medical condition. There was actually another reason I did not want to disclose it though.”

The psychic was relieved, but she did not have time for inner joy. What Grohl had to say could be important. She looked intently at the grass type, indicating she was listening.

“You know how I specialize in killing ground, rock and water types? Well, when I kill and take their life force, it actually makes my issues improve. It does more than that, it gives me a high. I just did not want to have Freddy not hire people or take jobs due to this,” a look of shame went over the tangrowth’s eyes. “I do not want any new hires to be uncomfortable with me if they were one of those types. I also was worried if I ever had a energy craving and lose control.”

The psychic slowly moved her hand towards Grohl’s should, wanting to allow Grohl to give silent permission.

The grass type allowed it, nodding his head.

Her hand rested on his shoulder. “Grohl. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are catastrophizing. You have been around plenty of rock, water and ground types. You have never acted out once. As for scaring new recruits. Trust me, Freddy or I would probably do that before you ever would.”

Both laughed at the joke. There was truth in what Gwen said. Everyone in the company would likely make people feel uncomfortable in their own unique way. Eccentricities, powers, attitude, those were more than one way to make someone nervous.

“I guess that is silly, yeah. Still, I need to be careful with certain of my creations. I have to make sure no one touches them. For everyone’s safety.”

No. Grohl was already thinking on his security system. Gwen shot him a concerned look, she wanted to stop him.

“Listen Grohl. I understand you are important to the system you made, but maybe we should not bother with that right now. It is what has been burning you out for the last few days. You need to just let that go for now.”

The tangrowth began to lean upward. “I have to maintain it, if it drops, we will be open for attack and the bombs can go off and hurt someone.”

Gently nudging the grass type back onto the bed. Gwen exhaled, not breaking eye contact at all. “Grohl. Please.”

Begrudgingly, he sighed. “I’ll leave it be for now. I’ll focus on recovering first.”

“That’s better,” The old Gwen was back, her confident, aloof and strong swagger was back in swing. “So do you want me to let everyone know you aare awake. I’ll take a moment to readjust and-”

Not that Grohl would get the chance, Lenox peered into the room and saw Grohl was awake. She was elated! The hawlucha then ran to go get Lonnie from wherever they were.

“Guess I don’t get to relax on my own.”

The friends chuckled, then gave each other a look of care for one another.

“Thank you Gwen.” Grohl raised hand up as if to fist bump.

“Ey, glad to have you back. Buddy.” Fists made contact, then they made it explode.

[y0urem0]

Hello sir, I am using the translator because my English is not very good, sorry Well, if I may, I would like to ask you a few questions about your Happypasta.

1.-Does he have a voice? I mean, does he have a song or something similar for his voice?

2.- Is it a proxy or an "independent" happypasta, or does it live in the happy house?

3.-Do he have a defined sexuality? I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable.

4.-What is your OC's favorite food?

5.--This is the last question so as not to continue bothering you, if it would be possible for you to grant me permission to use it in my AU happypasta, and modify its design a little

As I mentioned, I have an AU, but it's on Wattpat, if you're curious I'll leave it here, although in fact everything is in Spanish and some strange words

Wattpat: kkjhhjk

thank you for your attention sir

¡Oye! Quería que esto te resultara más fácil de leer, así que utilicé el traductor de Google. Espero que te ayude 😁 ¡y nunca tengas miedo de hacer cualquier petición que siempre tengo o encuentro tiempo!

1. Sí, como todas las demás pastas, ¡son muy alegres! Tiene 14 años, así que su voz todavía es un poco alta :)

2. Vive en la casa feliz porque realmente se apega a la gente de allí, considera que todos son felices allí

3. Realmente no lo he pensado, diría pansexual, pero solo salí platónicamente (también está bien siempre que sea platónico ya que tiene 14 años :))

4. Aprecia cualquier comida que le des (aparentará que también le encanta la comida horrenda 😭), ¡pero específicamente le encantan las piruletas y la pasta! (Solo porque piensa que es divertido amar la pasta y ser una pasta feliz)

5. ¡Realmente me encantaría tanto! ¡Nunca podrás molestarme! ¡Me encanta la solicitud! Envía todo lo que quieras y definitivamente responderé lo mejor que pueda :)))¡Definitivamente lo comprobaré! Espero que esto ayude a enviar más solicitudes si quieres saber algo 😁

Here's an english version to anyone interested! Also I always love request so don't ever worry!

Hey!I wanted to make this easier for you to read so I used google translate hope it helps 😁 and never feel scared to ask any request I always have/or find time!

1. Yes he does,just like all the other pastas they are very upbeat! Hes 14 so his voice is still kinda high :)

2. He lives in the happy house since hes really grown attach to the people there, he considers everybody happy in there

3. Haven't really thought of it I'd say pansexual but only dated platonically (also its alright as long as its platonic since hes 14 :) )

4. He appreciates any food you give him (he'll pretend to love horrendous food too 😭) but specifically he loves lollipops and pasta! (Just because he thinks it's funny to love pasta and be a happypasta)

5. I'd actually love that so much! You can never bother me I love request! Send as much as you like and I'll I'll deffently respond to my best :)))

I definitely will check it out! Hope this helps send more request if you want to know anything 😁

[ayin-me-yesh]

Six Words a Day: Please, Thank You, and I'm Sorry in Japanese

Last time I did a post on greetings and salutations. Both that, and this post, can also be considered extensions of my Genki guide to the greetings section.

In each case I'm going to cover aspects of grammar and the kanji that Genki does not at this point.

At any rate, let's get started!

お願い or お願いします: please (emphasize a request) 願い (ねがい) means to "desire" or make a "request." The お in front of it is an honourific that is almost always included when if you're using it for "please." します is the present tense of する, "to do." So おねがい is literally "a request," and おねがいします is basically "[Would you] do [me] a favour?" おねがいします is more formal than おねがい by nature of being a more complete sentence.

どうぞ: please [go ahead] or please [help yourself] (colloquially) どうぞ is a combination of どう, "how," and ぞ which is an emphatic particle often used in commands. You can basically think of どうぞ as "by all means [help yourself]."

While both どうぞ and おねがい are often translated as "please," they're almost exact opposites in usage. おねがい is used to make a request or to ask permission while どうぞ is used to give permission or offer something.

有り難う or 有り難うございます: thank you 有り (あり) is a form of the Japanese verb 有る (aru), "to exist" or "to be" specifically used for inanimate objects. 難う (がとう) is a form of 難い (かたい) which means "difficulty" or "hardship." ありがとう therefore means "to be difficult" or "to be a hardship." ございます is a very formal form of "is," "am," or "are" so ありがとうございます means "it is difficult" or "it is a hardship." You can drop ございます to basically say "a difficulty" or "a hardship" in informal situations. Regardless, this expression of gratitude is an acknowledgement of the effort another person has gone to on your behalf.

It's worth noting you'll also often see or hear ありがとうございました. ございました is the past tense of ございます. You use ありがとうございます to thank someone for an ongoing action or something they have completed at that moment. For something they did in the past, even the recent past, you should instead use ありがとうございました.

どうも: thanks (colloquially); very much (as an intensifier) どうも is complicated. It is a combination of どう, "how," and も, "even" or "also." When attached to ありがとう, as in どうもありがとう, or to ありがとうございます, as in どうもありがとうございます, the literal meaning is essentially "it is done despite the difficulty," but you can think of it more as "thank you very much."

どうも can be used as an informal shorthand for expressing gratitude because the ありがとう is contextually implied. This is common in Japanese. For instance, in the greetings section we discussed how こんにちは just means 'today is..." but works as a complete thought because the context implies a sentence like "today is a nice day, huh?"

済みません: sorry! (in apology); excuse me! (attempting to get someone's attention); thank you! (in the case of someone having done something for you) 済みません (すんません) is a complicated one if you're looking for a direct translation into English. It's the negative form of 済む (すむ), meaning "to be completed" and, importantly by extension, "to feel at ease." Thus, the negative form, used here, means "to feel unease or guilt."

Thus, as an apology, you're saying, "I'm sorry, I feel so bad!" As an attempt to get someone's attention, you're saying, "sorry to bother you!" And as an expression of gratitude you're saying, "I'm sorry you went through so much trouble for me." And this explains why a common response is いいえ, a negation, basically "not at all!", "no worries!", or "don't mention it!"

As a final note on this, sometimes you'll see すまない instead which is just a less formal version of すんません.

ご免 or ご免なさい: I'm sorry 免 (めん) comes from 免ずる (めんずる), which means "to spare" or "to exempt." ご is an honourific, just like the お in おねがい. なさい comes from なさる, the more formal form of する, "to do." Thus, ごめん and ごめんなさい mean, "forgive me" with the latter simply being more formal.

It's worth noting that ごめんなさい is less polite than すんません, when used as an apology. This is because ごめん is directly asking for forgiveness, while すんません only expresses remorse without requesting or expecting anything from the listener in response.

[varian-polis]

I posted 5,777 times in 2022

90 posts created (2%)

5,687 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@zukoromantic

@killjoy-prince

@kiwilapple

@amaryllis56-main

@tooquirkytolose

I tagged 890 of my posts in 2022

#reblog - 449 posts

#polis speaks - 41 posts

#my blorbos &lt;3 - 34 posts

#polis does an art thing - 24 posts

#danganronpa - 22 posts

#vocaloid - 20 posts

#fnaf - 12 posts

#five nights at freddy's - 11 posts

#self reblog - 10 posts

#tw: death - 9 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#why would he tell elizabeth to keep away from baby if he didn't care about her? if he didn't care then she'd just be another casualty

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Playlist for people who simp for Montgomery "Monty" Gator from Five Nights at Freddy's: Security Breach:

Moto Moto from Madagascar 2

19 notes - Posted January 20, 2022

#4

FUCK Homestuck to day is Neil Banging Out the Tunes Day

36 notes - Posted April 13, 2022

#3

Quick question for fellow members of the FNAF fandom:

Is Mike Schmidt = Michael Afton canon, or is it just a widely accepted headcanon?

39 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

#2

What would you people do if I posted Bowuigi fanfic

53 notes - Posted December 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Stargazing (Bowuigi)

Based on the notes I’m getting on my one post I assume y’all are okay with the Bowuigi posting, and if not then block the tag bestie

Also on AO3!

It was late at night, and Luigi was woken up by repeated prodding at his arm. He tried to ignore it at first, hoping whichever hyperactive kid up way past their bedtime would give up and go bother their dad. However, the prodding turned to light shoving, to the point where Luigi worried he would be rolled off of the bed. That definitely wasn’t a kid.

“Alright, alright, I’m awake,” he groaned, and his excited fiancé stopped rolling him around like a piece of dough. “What is it?” He asked, trying to hide his annoyance.

“I wanna show you something,” Bowser exclaims, sparkles in his eyes.

Usually when someone woke him up this late, Luigi would simply refuse to get up unless it was an emergency. But looking into his fiancé’s wide, starstruck eyes, he found he didn’t have the heart to say no this time.

“Alright,” he sighed, smiling. “What do you want to show me?”

“Close your eyes,” Bowser requested, and Luigi obliged. The Koopa took his hand and started leading him through the castle, making sure not to walk too fast so the smaller, sleepy man could keep up.

Soon, his excitement got the best of him. “Permission to lift?” he asked, waiting for his approval.

“Sure,” Luigi yawned. It would be ideal for him, actually; he felt like his legs could only move at a snail’s pace. Bowser lifted him into his arms and they continued, much quicker this time. Luigi often didn’t like admitting it, but he liked it when his fiancé carried him like this; curled up in his arms, pressed against his warm and firm chest… It made him feel safe. And more than that, it made him feel wanted. He felt like he was about to fall sleep again in his surprisingly comfortable embrace.

Eventually, Bowser stopped. “I’m puttin’ ya down now, darlin’,” he informed Luigi. The man yawned as he nodded, and he gently lowered him back onto the ground. Luigi could feel cold air on his skin, and he shivered. The Koopa rubbed his back sympathetically. 

“Alright, you can open your eyes now,” Bowser stated, and Luigi gingerly did so.

He was greeted by the most beautiful night sky he had ever seen. The stars scattered across the sky like drips of paint on a canvas, and the red sky oddly seemed even prettier than the dark indigo he was used to. What’s more, the stars shined brighter than he had ever seen in the Mushroom Kingdom; the Koopa Kingdom’s citizens rarely kept their lights on after midnight, which meant there wasn’t any competition for the lights of the night sky.

Bowser watched his fiancé with a soft smile on his face. He’d been planning this for a while; he had heard from Mario and Peach that Luigi loved stars, so he’d been wanting to show Luigi what the Koopa Kingdom’s night sky was like ever since. And he got the reaction he was hoping for: Luigi’s eyes were as full of stars as the sky, his mouth open slightly as he took in the sight.

“I take it ya like it?” he broke the silence.

“I- It’s incredible,” his fiancé responded. “It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Heh. I’ve seen prettier,” Bowser replied.

“What could possibly be more beautiful than this?” Luigi scoffed.

“You,” the Koopa answered, pecking Luigi on the head.

“I- Uh, um, I-” the man tried to come up with a comeback, but failed miserably; the combination of how tired he was, the cold, his surprise and how flustered he was combined to make it incredibly difficult to think of a response.

Bowser chuckled. “You make it too easy, y’know?”

“Sh-shut up,” Luigi flushed. “Not my fault you caught me off guard.”

His fiancé smiled. “Ready to head back inside?”

“Yeah, we probably should, before one of the kids comes looking for us and we’re missing,” he replied.

“Alright, let’s go,” Bowser grinned. “Permission to lift?”

“Permission granted,” Luigi smiled. The Koopa lifted him into his arms once again, and took him back to their bedroom.

By the time he reached their room, the smaller man had already conked out once again, quietly snoring into his chest. He smiled lovingly at him, and kissed him on the forehead before lowering him into bed.

“Love ya, darling,” Bowser whispered.

“Love you too…” Luigi slurred in his sleep, causing his fiancé’s smile to widen.

See the full post

124 notes - Posted December 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[ohleander]

1.25.24

Been struggling a lot this last whole week in particular. Feels like another buildup. I got sick again this past Tuesday and its been a struggle in itself, but I swear, in hindsight, I could feel something coming on. At least it made a lot of sense. I was so frustrated and overwhelmed last week at work. There was just so much to do and not enough time. I've been experiencing feelings of people not respecting my efforts, my time, or regarding me outside of themselves. Been troubled that people are talking crap behind my back, and I always have to remind myself that's not my business, but it does affect me. Lately I've been treading the messy line of allowing myself cranky anger in real time but also learning to manage it in healthier ways. I definitely need more body movement more consistently. Its hard to incorporate that into a reliable routine, though. I was successful at not overstimulating myself these past couple of days. I guess the shadowy feelings of it all are that I'm feeling like I cant ever do enough to please those I'm closest with. Its hard to understand and its hard to get away from that habit. I still have a lot to practice. I still struggle with not feeling like myself on the day-to-day. With each day, though, I gain more practice and clarity, I believe. Also treading the line lately of feeling light and love and gratitude, while also freely expressing my shadowy side, the feelings I usually smush down. I don't want to exist in a rut of ungratefulness. I truly do have a fine life and I also still have room for frustration. Its a very human thing, right? Perhaps the most human thing is overthinking, which is what I'm usually doing the most. I'm also trying to observe how I'm speaking to myself. If I'm so quick to judge myself harshly, of course I will do the same with others, out of cyclic habit.

As always, there's plenty to think about and the lot of it all has me a bit anxious and worried. Its hard to turn it off, even though I am grateful for my life. How to not dwell, but also acknowledge and validate any feelings of frustration? My new cat tarot deck strongly suggests learning judgement and balance. I guess there's my next step. But also.. could it be that I'm just a naturally grumpish person? (being an Aries...) and does being grumpy mean that I'm stuck in low vibes? I think not.. society is generally terrible and dismal these days. Consumerism and war, election year and more.. its all a huge weight to feel. It seems the big wigs want us to feel responsible for the way the world is.. its so easy to feel like there's nothing I can do to improve the way the world is. It feels like a huge hill to climb, but as always, of course we are going to try, even if its daunting. There's honestly no other way to go in time, but forward, no matter whats happening. And I free myself to let go of any baggage or any past self feelings, even if it was from 5 minutes ago. I give myself full permission to drop it and change to a clean slate at any given minute that I choose. I have more freedoms than I would first think. Material world woes can really bog a spirit down.

As always, again, I guess I shouldn't wait so long to write next time. It seems there's always something deeper that's bothering me, not just what I initially think on the tip of the brain iceberg. I'm always trying to harmonize all of myselves.

LA

[electricbluebutterflies]

Jess/Leto + cuddles after being touch-starved

Late-era, PG-ish, also on ao3. Also this finishes up the second prompt-comp which means I've turned out 100 ficlets for these babes and... somehow not burnt out on them yet, still definitely projecting a bit, still having a very good time.

It’s been two weeks.

She’s survived longer – not by much, and not recently, but she has. Logistical separation makes Jessica uneasy no matter how justified, always the worry of what might go wrong without her, different fears now than she had fifteen years ago but-

Her partner has stayed on-planet, and spared her from having to pay attention to some particularly boring administrative tasks, and it is important that he occasionally be seen without her, and nothing went wrong on her side, nothing even remotely interesting, and she knows all of this for what it is, and still the distance feels most wrong as it ends.

She’ll get the necessary details of what she missed later, some directly and the majority in overheard conversations. It’s been a while since she’s had a good reason to haunt certain hallways, long enough that she suspects some of the guard don’t even know what she was like before she was made soft, before-

Jessica is well aware of all the comparisons that get made between herself and various tamable animals, and she ought to be more bothered by them than she actually is, but… how could she deny her own reality? The fact that she has tamed herself is irrelevant; it looks better on all sides if her partner is somehow blamed, even as that risks him, even as-

She is too present for the return, quiet but visible as she always is, a particularly sharp look as she waits for her moment. There have been no emergencies in this place practically structured to run itself, no need for any protocols, nothing in the cultivation of their son that cannot be put aside for a few hours if not a few days, nothing-

It is wrong, on every level of her judgment, to prioritize her heart. She does so anyways.

“I need a moment,” she says when she has opportunity, when it is obvious enough that everything remains peaceful on the other side too. She ought to start with formalities but she hasn’t in ages; everyone close enough to hear knows exactly what she is and likely a good guess of what she wants, and-

“You have never just needed a moment,” her partner replies. “I…”

“Not here, of course. If we could…”

She knows every private space in their compound, and a good guess of which her partner will decide is most convenient for whatever she’s up to. Still something of a walk upwards from the dock, still enough time in near-perfect silence to note what she needs to know about the trip on a domestic level. He doesn’t sleep right without her and it shows, she’ll do pressure points later and perhaps for the next few days to make up for it, and the adoration in his eyes is rarely so obvious and deep and-

“Will this do?”

The compound was designed centuries ago by some ancestor who kept a much larger household; the space in question hasn’t actually been an office in generations, Jessica suspects, but tradition so often wins over efficiency and-

“I’d be content in a closet,” she murmurs.

It’s enough permission to get his arms around her, and she is always amazed by how well their bodies fit, how natural it is to fold herself into perfect empty spaces. Her partner expresses affection with touch so much easier than she does, even now, and she… at best understands the intent. She does not initiate, but she can ask for what she wants and know she’ll get it and-

“You should’ve come,” he breathes against the side of her face.

“Don’t give me options if you don’t actually want me to take them. There was no good reason for me to go and-“

“You could’ve done your exploring.”

She laughs despite herself – she has done very little to maintain her partner’s innocence, and yet some days he still amazes her. “You mean accidentally gone somewhere I wasn’t supposed to and gotten into it with some creature who’s predisposed against me because you won’t-“

“You do have your tendencies, love.”

The endearment is just uncommon enough to make her fragile, enough to make her thankful that proximity hides her face because willpower isn’t going to hold her back for much longer. He has found and broken almost every limit she has, and out of that made her love him in return, out of that-

“It was better that I stayed. If I’m going to be bored, at least I can be bored somewhere no one else is stupid enough to get in my way.”

She can practically feel his silent prayer against whatever cosmic force put her into his life, but the hands on her back are still as gentle as ever. “That is… not a bad point.”

If she wanted to spar, she’d also point out that he’s always consistently affectionate after a separation, and she’ll wring a few weeks out of this one, but that’s something to make use of later, not now, not-

Her head turns and she takes a soft kiss, allows her longing to flow through her body. The bittersweetness of desire, of being so bound to another living being, to a point where it has become almost too much of her identity and someday this will leave a wound but not now not yet not-

“How long do we have?” she breathes.

“Have you ever actually cared for anyone else’s schedules?”

“I do try to be mindful of yours…”

For this she gets a look like he’s not sure how much he believes her – aware of, yes, but just as likely to wreak havoc when she wants something or is just understimulated or-

Even now it’s all too obvious that neither of them ever really prepared for this domestic-partnership thing. Even now the voices in her head remind her that she was made for respectful distance, not true intimacy. Even now, even in these little moments, she defies.

“Two weeks,” she murmurs. “Two weeks of slowly realizing just how big our bed is when I’m alone in it. Two weeks of doing everything I could to summon the sense-memory of your hands on me and it still wasn’t-“

“Does it make you feel any better to know I had the same set of problems? That every day felt longer as I tried to accept that you were not at the end of it?”

“You could have actually asked me to-”

“Is that what you want? To make me one more person who needs something from you?”

She’s quiet for a moment, considering responses, the only way out is through and-

“You do need things from me, love. As I do from you. It’s different if I-“

“Still goes against what we have become. What we should’ve been, perhaps, but-“

“I am giving you permission,” she breathes, taking another kiss. “I trust you more than anything, you have seen that reflected in all of my days for over a decade, and… if my presence would be a comfort to you, I will bite my lip and behave impeccably.”

“You’ll do one of those, but I’m not quite sure about the other.” Affection in his voice all the same, and the embrace shifts and tightens. “And I’ll try to hold you to it.”

They both know he won’t. They both know that the next time a similar situation occurs, he’ll give her a choice and more likely than not she’ll make it on her own judgement. They both know-

“You need me,” Jessica repeats like it’s the most real thing in the world. “We steady each other. Isn’t that enough reason to-“

“You loathe social obligations and you’re not near as subtle as-“

“Only because you know my tells. People I’ve never met would have no idea of my misery.”

He lets it go, and they linger in the quiet until the edges are worn off, until the shared desperate need is met enough for them both to function outside these walls. Their reunions have become softer as the years have passed; there was a time when this encounter would’ve involved desperate pawing at each other, but they are older and more familiar now and such activities can be saved for their bedroom in a few hours and-

She would’ve run circles around anyone she could’ve been paired to, she’s well aware. At least this one knows. At least this one loves her even more for it.

“I assume I’ll see you later?” he asks, somehow a question as he lets go of her.

“Of course. I wouldn’t… I do keep my routines with or without you.”

“If you…”

“You missed nothing vital, love. On any front.”

The absolute trust is mutual – they are nothing if they are not one and the same – and he takes her hand to his lips before they reenter the wider world. “You would say if…?”

“You know I would. Nothing…”

Always the unspoken, always the potential for plausible deniability, but… none of that either, she says in the safety of her heart. Nothing. Just cultivated routines and quiet longing and-

“And you were heard when-“

“I didn’t need to pull rank. I’m not ambitious when unsupervised.”

“Good.”

[katieslondonadventures]

                                                 Christmas play

This Christmas play is about a group of friends from America having Christmas dinner and one of their friends is late, causing them to worry. Transportation had stopped, which Mark was not aware of and he had no way of getting into the city, so he had an adventure trying to get to his friend's house. 

Sarah: Where is Mark? We can’t start our Christmas feast without him!

Jenny: Maybe we could just have a little taste?

Sarah: No!

George: It's alright Sarah, relax. I’m sure he will be here soon. 

Sarah: John is never late, he is always early actually. Where could he be? Maybe I should call him?

Jenny: Ah he will be fine. At least it's not snowing.

George: It rarely snows here, but the freezing rain is so much worse. 

David: Guys, I’m trying to sleep. Could you keep it down in there?

Sarah: your best friend is missing and all you care about is sleeping?

David: Sarah, stop being so dramatic he is most certainly not missing.  

George: Jenny, looks like you spoke too soon. 

Jenny: Yay! It's snowing! The first snow all season on Christmas. Can you believe that?

David: That wonderful jenny. Now if you could kindly stop squealing I would like to finish my nap before we eat. 

Sarah: no one is eating until Mark gets here. Guys, I'm really worried. 

George: You know what, it has been over an hour and Mark still isn’t here. Sarah, now I give you permission to worry.

Sarah: AHHHHHH!

David: Gosh, Sarah, he said worry not wail. 

Jenny: That is what she does when she has totally lost it. Should we go out and look for him?

Sarah: Yes! Let's go! Let me grab my coat

Mark: woah Sarah, where are you off to, so quickly. You almost nearly took me down. 

Sarah: Mark, where in the world have you been? I am so glad you are alright!

Jenny: Yeah Mark, way to make us nervous.

David and George: Mark! Time to eat!

Mark: Thanks for the hugs, those are awfully kind, but no need. I am alright. 

Jenny and Sarah: What happened?

Mark: Alright everyone sit down, I could use a warm drink. 

George: I will make you some hot chocolate. Just wait to start your story, man.

Mark: Oh, thanks, this is delicious.  Well, I was on my way over when I realised that transportation does not run on Christmas day here in the city. So I started walking along, frozen to the bone, when a man in a little red car stopped me. He had a long white beard and a little red nose, with a smile that warmed my heart. 

David: dude, you met the real life Santa!

Mark: Seriously, I think that I did. He said he would drive me to the flat here, but we just had to make a few stops along the way. 

Jenny: What kind of stops?

Mark: He was delivering presents. 

George: NO WAY! That was Santa. 

David: Who else is coming? 

Sarah: We shouldn't have anyone else, no clue. 

David: I’ll get it. Guys! It's Santa!

Santa (random man): Sorry to bother you children, my car wouldn't quite start and it was a bit chilly outside, could I come in for a cup of tea? Also, I come bearing presents!

George: Let him in dude, it's Santa!

[bokettochild]

If wars had nicknames for time and wind during the war, did they have a nickname for him?

>:)

"Tune?"  

Link looked up from the map he’d been studying. Standing at the flap of their tent was Mask, face screwed up in thought like it so often was. “Yeah?” 

The smaller boy moved closer when permission given to enter. Not that Mask usually cared about permission or even people being okay with what he wanted to do but the bigger Link of their trio, the captain, had been stressing the importance of consent of late, at least in regards to privacy and physical autonomy. “Do you have a moment?” 

Link- Tune nodded, moving to reroll the scroll in front of him. Link- the big Link, the captain, hadn’t said this was strictly important, and while he wasn’t sure just how much the man was willing to give either of them any sort of truly pressing responsibilities, he still wanted to get the thing done. However, it wasn’t often Mask came to him for things and since they were technically brothers now, after Big Link had adopted them so they wouldn’t get fostered by some farmer family, it was rather his responsibility to be there should the other come to him with anything. 

“What’s up?” 

“It’s Link,” the younger answered, letting the tent flap closed behind him. 

Tune felt his face fall, worry immediately gnawing at his heart. “Is he drinking again?” Link was usually pretty good about all things, alcohol included, but after their most recent battle he’d been rather rough and Tune wouldn’t put it past the man to fall to his flask now that they were all safe for the time being. It had happened before after a bad battle, and considering everything.... 

“No.” Mask shook his head, gritting his teeth. “It’s nothing like that.” 

“What’s up then?” He asked, careful to stay patient. Aryll got hesitant sometimes when something was very important to her, and while so far he hadn’t seen many similarities between the little hero and his baby sister, they were close in age, so he wasn’t about to dismiss that some things might be the same at that age, even with different genders and life experiences. 

The younger boy’s hands trailed to the side of his face, scratching lightly, and Tune had to restrain himself from scolding him for it. There were already long angry scars on either side of the kid’s face, irritating them wouldn’t let them heal, but interrupting his baby brother also wouldn’t help the other finally find his words either, so he held his tongue. For now. 

“He called me Sap again.” 

“Oh?” Link called them all sorts of things, usually coupled with a hair ruffle and one of those lovely rich laughs where when he spoke you could catch his heavy accent peeking through, just a bit. He’d never minded them, even liked them, especially when Link called him ‘cap’n’ or ‘wavemaker’ or such things. It reminded him of home, and a bit of Linebeck, although Link was a bit... nicer than the old sailor. 

“Yeah.” Small fingers scratched again. 

Tune frowned, brows furrowing as he stood to his feet, moving closer to the younger hero. “Does that bother you?” 

“Yes.” Bright eyes flashed a second and the younger stammered. “I mean no. I mean-” a sigh and then Mask was running his hands through his hair in the same way Link did. “It’s not bad.” 

Which for the bitter little baby of a hero meant it was nice. 

“It’s just, Link calls us all sorts of things, and they’re...you know, sort of nice.” 

He couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at that. 

“But all we call him is Link, which is our name too. I just wondered if maybe you think he’d like a nickname too.” 

He had to restrain himself from smiling widely at the smaller boy. Mask didn’t like people being emotional with him, or at the very least he acted all huffy about it, especially when it was anyone other than Link. Link could get away with a whole lot more than most people. “Isn’t calling him ‘dad’ enough though?” He teased, watching pink flood over pudgy cheeks. “He liked that well enough.” 

“That was an accident!” The younger hero hisses, face flaming as he stomped one small foot pentulently. 

Tune chuckled. “I know it was. He liked it though, and if you actually feel that way about him, he probably wouldn’t be opposed to-” 

“’Dad’ isn’t a nickname.” Mask huffed, eyes flashing a warning that embarrassment would soon give way to frustration if Tune wasn't careful. 

The older of the two took that as his cue to return to the subject at hand. “Well what were you thinking?” he asked. “Tall Link?” 

Not even Tetra could have beat the deadpan stare the kid shot at him. “No.” 

“Well, what then? It’s not like we really know much about him other than he’s a hero and he’s in the army.” Which was true. The man in question may be their legal parent now, but they’d only met him a few months prior and the only life they’ve seen him live is that of a soldier. They don’t know what his favorite food or color or song is: they've only heard the man sing once when Mask had a nightmare and then it’d been some lullaby about lavender or something of the sort. The only food they’ve eaten since joining this whole venture has been the same ration packs as everyone else has eaten, and Link only ever wears his uniform. 

There's not a lot they could learn about the man really, not given their circumstances. 

“Scarf?” Mask tried, and then immediately shook his head. “That’s just juvenile.” 

He sniggered again. “Mask, I’m juvenile. You’re not even twelve.” 

“I’m twenty-four.” The child protested in that tired way he did. No one believed him but the kid kept trying.  

“Sure.” Sea-green eyes flickered about their tent. The two boys slept with the captain and shared his quarters rather than sleeping with the groups of soldiers occupying other tents. It gave them a bit more room to wriggle about and stretch when they were restless and it gave the captain space to lay out his maps and charts and things to plan their next moves.  

Unfortunately, as far as personal affects went, the place was rather barren. 

Link kept a small journal in his bag, but there weren’t any letters or notes tucked inside like many of his men kept. Instead, there was just a small pressed flower in the front of it, a dark one with small curved petals that Tune couldn’t recognize but which Mask said was a wild violet. 

‘A gift from a lover’ the kid had suggested when they’d seen it once as Link had been paging through the book and it had slipped out, but that was just a guess. 

Besides that, the tent was full of only the necessities. There were bed-rolls and some cooking things, rations and weapons and what precious cleaning supplies and toiletries the captain had been able to scrounge together. There were of course the maps and charts and tools the man used for planning as well, but there wasn’t a desk or anything he kept them on, just a couple of old crates pushed together. He’d heard Impa offer to get the man a desk, but the captain seemed rather against it. ‘A needless frivolity,’ the man had insisted, ‘if my men can sit on the ground, I can too, and it’s less to carry that way.” Because Link wasn’t a man of needless luxury or nonsense, even if the care he put into his appearance might indicate otherwise. 

Tune sighed. “What would we even call him? He’s like...” he wrinkled up his nose in a frown of mixed confusion and laughter, “He’s legally our parent now, we only know he’s a good person who cares for us and Hyrule and he’s so busy we don’t really have time to learn more about him.” 

Mask flopped down on the ground, criss-cross applesauce like Aryll did when she was tired or frustrated. “We could ask Linkle?” 

He was shaking his head in instants. “No. She’s still fussing about finally becoming an aunt, I am not willing to face her.” He liked her, he did, but the woman is a bit much and it was honestly a wonder to him that she and the captain were actually twins. 

There was a wide eyed nod from the younger hero and then pudgy cheeks were falling to rest in small but scarred hands as both boys settled in to think over what they could possibly use as a nickname for their fellow Link. 

That’s how said hero walked in on them, his two boys sitting and staring at the ground with matching thoughtful pouts, so deep in thought that they didn’t even notice his arrival until he was leaning against one of the tent’s supporting poles and smiling at them both, the easy one he wore for his sisters and not the charming one meant for his soldiers. “Now, what on earth is keeping two gremlins like you sitting so still and peaceful. No one’s died I hope?” It was said in a way that’s teasing but that didn’t stop the two boys seeing the weariness and pain in the eyes of the man as he looked down at them. 

“No one’s died,” Tune assured, pulling himself up, “Mask and I just need to go talk to someone.” 

The younger and older heroes both looked to him with confusion as he’d reached for his little brother’s hand and pulled him firat to his feet and then to the flap of the tent. 

“Oh?” Link asked. 

“Yes.” Tune affirmed. “We’ll be back for dinner.” And rather than waiting for the man to say anything further he’d darted out of the flap and left the captain standing and staring after the young heroes, eyes wide with confusion and lips touched with a small smile. 

The camp was set up in the same way it always was, and the two boys had little to no trouble getting through it, Mask demanding to know where they were going and Tune more focused on not running into anyone than answering. Presently however, they'd found what they were looking for. 

”Ravio?” Mask scoffed, “you wanted us to find Ravio?” 

“He’s an artist,” Tune returned, considering the merchant’s tent where it sat on the edge of the camp, “he creates all sorts of things and as a merchant he’ll have heard all the gossip and things there is to know about Captain Link.” 

And so he had. The merchant had welcomed them into is tent with the same bluster and babble they heard him use around the soldiers, tripping about his various items in an effort to get to them and ask what it was they had come to him for. 

“We need help,” Tune had stated, gripping Mask’s hand tightly to remind the younger to not contradict him, he earned a glare for his troubles but the younger hero had stayed still so it was worth it. 

“Help?” The merchant’s face couldn’t be seen past that silly hood he wore, but his head t6ilted to one side in a question, “with what, little mister heroes?” 

Mask’s mouth dropped open, eyes glinting, but Tune carefully knocked him off balance to stop anything being said or done to frighten the flighty merchant. “Yes, and um...we’re Tune and Mask now, Link gave us names so you don’t need to call us that anymore.” 

He got the impression Ravio was smiling at him, but the merchant said nothing, just waited and stared at them, the eyes of his hood unblinking and stranger the longer he’d looked into them. 

“Um, you know Captain Link, right?” 

Ravio nodded. “Of course! He’s your father now, yes? How very nice for all of you, he’d make a lovely one I dare say. What about him? Oh! Are you here looking for something as a gift maybe? A surprise? I have-” 

“We need a name for him.” Mask huffed. “He gives us names but we’re shit at coming up with one for him.” The hand in Tune’s own was pulled free and then Mask was crossing his arms and staring, unblinking, at the equally unchanging rabbit face of the hood. “Tune thinks you’ll be able to think something up because you’re” finger quotes came into play with the most deadpan expression he’d seen yet- “an artist.” 

The merchant started but nodded. “Oh yes, that I am! Not nearly as much as my Mr. Hero of course, but I’m decent. Names though? Oh you’ve come to the right place! I’m truly terrific with names, but it will cost you!” 

Of course, it would. Everything cost something with Ravio. 

Fortunately, Mask seemed to have it covered. “I’ve got a lovely jeweled sword you can have, if you give us a good one.” 

They didn’t need to see the merchant’s face to know he perked up at the offer. “Do you have it with you.” 

“Back at the tent.” 

“Oh.” The merchant considered the kid a moment. “It’s real right? Not one of those terrible pranks everyone’s told me about?” 

Mask rolled his eyes. “It’s real. Got it off some idiot on the field the other week. I was planning on selling it anyway; too fancy for my taste and Link’s got the freaking Master Sword, so he doesn’t need it.” 

The merchant, in perhaps the most foolish move he’d ever make, didn’t ask for proof of its existence. Tune didn’t prompt him too either, but to himself he couldn’t help but think that the merchant would make a truly terrible pirate, taking people at their word rather than supposing they could be just as horrible about scamming as the merchant himself was.  

“Right then, give me a moment to think.” And then Ravio sat back in a chair he just happened to have sitting there, one hand fiddling with the end of his scarf as one of his feet tapped the ground beneath them.  

The two younger heroes shared a glance and a sigh, before turning their attention to the tent about them. Adults, honestly. It seemed no one could give a straight answer when a younger person asked something, and both of them were fully prepared to be waiting a while. So they explored.  

Between the two of them they may have gone through nearly all the merchant’s tent (even the part where he slept, in the back) inspecting items and sneakily hiding a pot that tune had accidentially tipped over. 

“It looked further away than that!” 

Mask rolled his eyes, swiftly using one of the spades lying about to dig a hole to bury the thing. “You have no depth perception, do you?” 

Sometime after that they’d found Link’s shield (“Did he seriously lose it? How?”) and tucked it into Mask’s bottomless bag, careful lest Ravio see them. (“He was kinda busy you know, and we all know Ravio’s a sticky-fingers anyway.”) 

Fortunately, they didn’t run out of things to do before Ravio seemed to have found what he claimed was the perfect name.  

“Tell us then,” Mask demanded, cocking one brow in an unimpressed look that would have had Tetra rolling in hysterics and Grandma sighing about Mask’s parent’s not doing right by him (Link was trying, but he was a new parent yet and could hardly be blamed for the things mask had learned before coming to them). 

The merchant bounced up from his seat, hood bouncing with him so they got just the slightest peak of dark skin and shining teeth. “Mister Captain Hero Sir, of course! I’ve been wondering how to address him when we finally meet and he isn’t so busy, so I suppose you’ve all done me a favor in a way. Don’t think that changes your payment though, an agreement is an agreement after all.” 

Tune stared, first at Ravio and then at Mask. “But that name is horrible!” 

“It is not!” 

“Yes it is! Who on earth would want such a dumb name?” Granny would scold him for being rude and he knew it, but truly such a title was, at best, laughable, and at worse, entirely horrible and mocking. 

The merchant settled both his hands on where they assumed must be his hips (that big robe did him no favors). “The point of it is to make him laugh, you know. He’s so serious and stone faced these days, and with a lovely smile like his he really should laugh more! Such a title would surely do the trick, especially coming from his boys! I’ll even let you take credit!” 

Mask snorted. “Not a chance, we are not letting you pass blame for that name.” 

He got the feeling Ravio was staring at them, unmoving and, as far as the hood went, unblinking. “A deal is a deal, Captain Hero Sir Junior, so whether you like what you get or not, I do believe I am the proud owner of a jeweled sword now.” 

Surprisingly, Mask didn’t fight it, instead ducking out and returning with, of all things, the promised blade. No sooner was it at the merchant’s feet though than the small hero was catching Tune’s hand and dragging him from the tent. 

“What was that about?” 

Mask snorted. “He’s the idiot who dropped the sword to begin with.” 

It made him smile, laugh a bit too as they darted through the tents and soldiers on their way back to their own. Campfires were being lit and meals prepared, so it was time they get back if they didn’t want Link worrying more than he would already. 

“Should we use it?” Mask asked once they were only a short distance away, close enough to see the captain trying to prepare dinner but not so close the man could hear him. Anyone else, maybe, but they’d both learned by now that the man’s hearing absolutely sucked in comparison to most Hylians’. 

Mask frowned. “I’m almost more partial to ‘dad’.” 

“They would make him smile though.” Nearly anything not related to the war had a chance of doing that. If the little violet in his journal could prompt a hint of a smile from him than a silly name might actually get him to laugh. “I- I’m going to try it.”  

The younger hero stared up at him, for once looking his actual age with the curious tilt of his ead and confused furrow of thin brows, but he didn’t tease or fuss about it, just watched Tune until the older moved back to camp. 

Link greeted them with a nod and a half-smile, the forced kind that no matter what still hinted at just how tired he was. The bags beneath his eyes weren’t something any amount of lotion could cover and the man was dragging a bit as Tune scooped their rations from his hands to prepare them.  

Personally, the sailor wasn't much of a cook, but when Granny had learned he’d intended to go out adventuring with tetra and the pirates, she’d insisted on teaching him at least the bare basics so the lot of them wouldn’t starve. He blessed her for it every day now. Link could cook, but the poor man hadn’t a clue how spices worked and everything he made was, while nutritious, incredibly bland. 

“How was your errand?” Link asked, rubbing at his neck with a wince and looking the two of them over, likely to ensure neither had ash or undue amounts of rubble on them. Considering the worst they had done was knock over and bury a pot (and scam Ravio) they were pretty clean and neither eyebrow raised in that silent question of ‘do I want to know?’. 

“It went well,” Mask might have thought he was sly, but he didn’t miss the way his little brother plopped himself down close enough to Link to easily be pulled close to the man’s side, which happened only a moment after. He also didn’t miss how the kid smiled just a bit as callused fingers had tweaked long ears playfully.  

“No one killed?” 

“Not a soul, Mister Captain Hero Sir.” 

He paused, hands stuttering to a halt over their dinner as he’d turned to stare at where Mask was grinning impishly at their guardian and Link was staring back in astonishment. 

Something, something strange and bright, had flashed in royal blue eyes. Perfect brows raised and perfect lips parted and then there had been the most rich and rolling laughter sounding over the camp, Link hunching forwards and in on himself and shaking his head. “Noo where on Din’s earth did ya coom up wi’ that?” 

Mask had smirked and Tune had giggled and neither had answered. 

Maybe Ravio was right. After all, anything that caused the sort of laugh that made the captain drop his posh accent and be real, be hylian instead of heroic, was a grand thing indeed. Worth every inch of that jeweled sword, even if it had been stolen. 

-

(As a note, I did NOT create this nickname. Skiewrites over on Ao3 did, I just use it because it's the most brilliant thing ever. All credit for its creation goes to them!)