#I want to work on build-a-fic but this was softer on my brain tonight

[filet-o-feelings]

Thanks for the tags @jesuisici33 @rmd-writes @hippolotamus and @ramonaflow

So I was looking through my google docs again after I did the weekend wip game, because I had been using both that and word until my subscription from my latest attempt at going back to college ran out this month, and now my docs are a disaster. Anyway, point is, I found an untitled doc that I completely forgot about - the candy factory tour fic! So I decided to write a bit of this because it was easier than trying to figure out where I need to pick up from on the build-a-fic. Baby steps.

Patrick won’t admit it to Rachel when she points out that he’s acting strange, but he can admit to himself that he’s been a bit distracted.  The last couple of days, David had joined a late morning tour group, and Patrick can’t stop thinking about him, especially now that they’ve been introduced.  He glances at the clock; it’s now after noon and David hasn’t joined any of the tours today. Patrick wonders if he teased him too much yesterday, hoping that’s not the case. He thinks he was flirting, but being truly attracted to someone and consequently attempting to flirt with them, well, it’s a fairly new experience for Patrick. He and Rachel had dated, on and off, since high school, and it was just how it’d always been. He hadn’t considered that the ease and comfort he felt with her was radically different from the way she felt about him.

[lustbile]

Hold On

TaeyongxReader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary/Warnings: based of this really old post here. Smut, stuffed animal kink?

first fic on the new blog! I’m losing my mind,

~~

You’d be slightly embarrassed to admit that the second Taeyong handed you the stuffed animal, it was as if it glued itself to your hands.

Yes you were slightly obsessed with the soft toy, but in your defense, it was the first present the boy had ever presented to you. Not only that, but it was also incredibly soft and, in its time spent hidden in Taeyong’s room as he tried to build the courage to give it to you, it had become permanently marked with his scent. These things, combined with its size, made it a perfect pillow.

So it never moved an inch from its corner of your bed. Waiting patiently every day for you to curl up, ready for sleep, and for you to pull it tightly into your chest. The only times it went untouched for the night, is the times you instead found yourself laid in the nest that was Taeyong’s bed, and it’s job as your pillow being taken over by his warm chest.

It was just a teddy bear. As classic as it could get with its brown fur and button eyes, but something about seeing it for the first time made Taeyong immediately think of you. You hadn’t been officially dating for too long, but he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t buy it right then and there, he just never anticipated how much nerve he’d have to build to actually give it to you.

But when he finally did, he was sure he had never seen something so adorable. The way your face lit up as you pulled it tightly against your chest, your neck bending slightly as you pressed your face into the fur. He could feel his chest tighten in endearment and his voice came out in nervous stutters when you thanked him with the same warm smile that was starting to feel exactly like home.

And he told himself, your reaction was what he found so cute. Yeah you holding it and cuddling into it was cute, but he was focused on your happiness.

So he didn’t really understand the way his stomach flipped when you let him into your room only days after to watch some movies and he saw it sitting perfectly next to your pillow as if it was waiting to see him again.

He shook off the weird feeling quickly, telling himself that he was just happy that you enjoyed the gift so much. And for that night it worked, and you innocently watched movies without a problem.

It wasn’t until about a week later did he have to admit that there was something else going on.

Same setting as the movie night only a handful of days before. Warm and cuddled into your bed, the sound softly pumping from the speakers of your tv. The soft brown teddy bear placed in his designated spot next to your pillow.

The only difference was his tongue rolling slowly over your clit and the quiet moans that fell from your lips.

The atmosphere in your room is so much softer than he’s ever experienced when he’s done stuff like this. Your muscles are completely loose as you sink into your mattress, the pleased noises you let out and the way your fingers tangle in his hair are the only indications that you’re still awake, as when his mouth first touched you, your eyes were sliding shut.

Your legs lay loosely against his back as he works you with his hot tongue. There’s no sense of urgency or impatience, allowing him to get a full taste of the arousal that builds between your legs. His hands smooth gently across the warm skin of your stomach letting him feel the muscles underneath the skin tense every time he hits a spot you particularly enjoy.

The second noises started coming from your pretty lips, his eyes had been trained on you. Watching the way the muscles in your face twitch and your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks every time he sucks the flesh of you clit tightly between his lips.

“Fuck Tae, I’m gonna come,” you whisper a warning, your fingers tightening around his scalp. He happily hums against you making you jerk and groan. He’s so enthralled by the way you start to squirm in pleasure, he’s thrown completely off guard at the feeling that hits him when you do it.

The hand that isn’t caught tangled in his hair starts to move eratically. He’s seen it before when you two had messed around. The promise of an orgasm making you so delirious your fingers would desperately search for something to ground you, but seeing that you usually only mess around in his room, you tend to find solace in crumpled up sheets. But in your bed, your fingers instead lock around your beloved teddy bear, and you’re pulling it to rest against your shoulder as you start to come hard on his waiting tongue.

You don’t seem to notice the quiet gasp he lets out when he sees this, as you’re too caught up with the orgasm that rips at your core. Luckily, regardless of his shock, he’s still able to lav his tongue against you to make it last just moments longer.

He’s unfamiliar with the feeling that claws at his stomach as he watches you twitch and shake with the stuffed toy lovingly gripped in your fingers. Something about it is so sweet and endearing while simultaneously makes him feel like he’s losing his mind.

He’s so thrown off by it, he decides to not bring it up, and even when you’re desperately pleading for him to let you wrap your lips around him in return, he can only wrap you in his arms and your blanket and tell you that it’s too late and you need to go to sleep.

And for a while after that, he didn’t really have to think about it. His room is the usual setting for your sexual escapades, that one time in yours was just an act of taking advantage that your roommate was out visiting family. So realistically he should have just put it aside and forgot about it, but that would just be too easy.

He thinks about it often. The scenes of it flashing randomly through his mind while he works or plays games, and he even shamefully thought about it when he was alone and touching himself to the thought of you. But it was at its absolute worst when you were together. Every time he pushed a whine past your lips, or when you started to come around him, a little demon in his brain would say, ‘now imagine if there was that cute little bear you got, just in perfect arms reach to grab.’

He just didn’t get it! What was it about you holding it as you came that got in his head so much. The amount of time he spent staring blankly at the wall trying to pick apart this new kink of his was bordering embarrassing, but he decided it was a combination of things. First, he always liked stuffed animals, he had a few himself that he’d push to the floor when you came to stay. Second, he liked you, a lot (that being a very easy factor to discover), and he liked making you come just as much.

Another factor was he knew it had something to do with it being a gift he gave you and how you would even refer to it as his bear as if he still owned it in some way. But the last, and probably most prominent factor, was that it was just cute enough to be corruptible. He knew that something about him making you feel so good and come so hard, that your mind would go blank, so blank that the first thing you’re subconscious mind would turn to is the soft and warm comfort item that he bought you, made him feel unhinged.

And he wanted to do it again.

——

First, he wanted to test if it was just that bear, or if it could be any stuffed toy he had a connection to.

You were coming over again and he was dead set on fucking you. This was this least uncommon thing in the world, but this time he just forgot to move one stuffed animal off his bed before he had sat down in only a pair of loose sweatpants to play games.

The large baby pink rabbit laid in the center of his bed when you walked in, seemingly keeping it warm as he sat at his desk playing games. You had seen it before so it hadn’t shocked you, but it was odd that he hadn’t moved it to sit on the floor at the end of his bed like usual.

But you weren’t one to complain, about the toy at least, so you just flopped as loudly onto his bed as possible and began calling his name and jokingly begging for attention like you’d do any other time.

He felt like an evil genius as he turned his chair slowly to face you, a deceivingly sweet smile pulling on his lips when he saw you had already claimed the soft rabbit without thought, the toy that had been seeped in his scent now tucked into your chest as you all but spoon it with your nose pressed against its ear. And his heart beat only ran faster when, as he stood to walk over to where you lay, he saw the way you subconsciously hug it tighter as if you feared he’d take it from you.

“You like the new friend you found?” He asks it in a taunting tone.

“Well yeah,” you keep your hold on the toy as you turn to lay on your back, your legs falling open as he stands between them, “you always put it away from me, so I have to take as much time with it as I can get.”

“Well then I won’t put it away this time baby since you like it so much,” he finishes his words with a huff, his eyes trailing across the scene below him. The way you’re laid out, soft and comfortable against his bedding while holding the toy, you’re so pretty and sweet smiling up at him, it’s enough to push him to put his plan into action.

“You don’t plan on letting it go at any point tonight?” he asks with a slight teasing tone, but the expression he wears tells you he still expects an answer. You shake your head softly in response, tightening your arms around it and your legs around his hips to prove it even more, “well if that’s the case…”

His fingers wrap around the bend of your knees, pulling them up higher on his hips and tugging you down the bed enough that your crotch brushes against his. He only grins and runs his cold fingers up your thighs when you grumble in response.

“do you think you can still hold on to it while I fuck you?” he asks so casually, a tilt to his head being the only indication of his mischievous mind set, that it throws you off for a moment.

“While you what?” you finally find the push to respond, your brain taking a moment to piece your thoughts together.

“While I fuck you,” he enunciates clearly, his eyes boring into yours as he reaches for the band of your pajama shorts.

He leaves you stuttering and shocked as his cold fingers dip below the fabric of your underwear, and as you lie there still trying to process his words, he tugs your shorts and underwear down and throws them behind his shoulder.

“What do you say baby?” he doesn’t give you time to respond before he’s bending forward, his head tilting as if he is scolding you as he pushes a slender finger into where your arousal begins to build, “you’d like to hold onto your cute little friend while I ruin you wouldn’t you.”

“Fuck Tae please,” you finally gasp out, your hips tilting towards him and your nails sinking into the soft fur of the rabbit.

“So cute,” he coos at you as he slowly works you with one finger, brushing his chapped lips and nose over the skin of your face as he waits for you to get wet enough for a second.

When he finally does, you’re panting. Your breath warm and gasping as his middle and ring fingers pump into you faster than you had mentally prepared for.

The heel of his palm digs into your clit while his greedy mouth devours the skin of your neck, and the pleasure that shoots throughout your nerves leaves you whining and squirming beneath him.

You don’t need to answer his original question. With the way he works you now, you can’t imagine letting the grip you have on his stuffed animal go even if you wanted. The soft fur being the only thing grounding you as you fall apart around his fingers.

He’s brought back to the first moment in your room when he hears the whining pitch that you fall into with your moans. The flush of warmth that runs over him from noises you make makes his whole body tense and causes a chain reaction when his fingers curl inside you, making you yelp in shock.

The growl he lets out when your free hand grabs his bicep and your nails dig into his skin is involuntary, but the harsh bite he sinks into your neck is retaliation.

You sound like you're bordering on hyperventilating when he sucks the skin between his teeth into his mouth to form a bruise, and with only a few more rolls of his palm, you feel pleasure shoot up your spine as you start to come.

Your eyes are watering as you wrap yourself around him, the toy squishing between your shoulders as you cling to him and whine. His fingers don’t slow down in the slightest as he works you through the orgasm, the way you tremble and curl around him with the toy still in your hold has his mind reeling and he can’t push himself to calm down.

Your mind is still fuzzy when he finally pulls away, and with the quickness of his motions, you don’t even connect that his fingers aren’t still pressed into you.

His still wet fingers curl around the bend of your knee, and he's pushing your knee towards your chest before you can even collect your scattered mind, and it's not until he’s sinking into you inch by inch do you come back to reality with a gasp.

“Look at my sweet baby,” he taunts as he shallowly rocks into you. His free hand trails up your side, taking a moment to tug at the rabbit and smile at the way you defensively hold it tighter, before wrapping his fingers gently around your neck, “you’re just so sensitive that you need your little friend huh?”

“Pleeeease,” your voice shakes as you let out the only word your shivering body allows.

He stands straight now as he harshly knocks into you, leaving your free hand to grasp frantically his crumpled sheets as your pushed higher on the bed.

He’s had you beneath him more times than he could count, every time he remembers as being more amazing than he could imagine, but something about this is different.

Your chest radiates warmth as you pant and moan, the muscles in your legs twitching harshly as you try to keep up with the pleasure you feel. Your eyes flutter as you try to watch him, your body rocks subconsciously as you try to match his motions, and you clench tightly around him making him spill just as many noises as you.

Though, of everything you do, the one thing he can’t pull his eyes away from, is the way you still cling onto his toy.

He had convinced himself that, even if you agreed to it, that the stuffed toy would be long forgotten once things got started, but the way you lay in front of him now, tells him you have no intention of letting go.

He can almost feel his heart beat in his throat as he watches you. The way you curl and arch against his bed, how cute you look in your old tshirt with the rabbit’s head pushing gently against your temple, makes him feel like he’s been handed heaven on a silver platter.

He can't imagine anything more beautiful than the scene in front of him, until he sees your hand wandering again.

Instead of reaching for his shoulder or his hands like usual, your fingers trail down your own skin. The way your face twists in pleasure tells him your hand moves with almost no thought, and before he can move to grab it, your rolling your clit softly beneath the pads of middle and ring fingers.

“You wanna come again that bad?” he doesn’t mean to sound mean when he asks, but there’s a mischievous energy in his chest he’s never really felt before this moment. He can’t help the pridefulness and glee he feels at you being so willing to indulge in his off requests, and he admits right then that this is something he’ll never let go. That night so long ago wasn’t a fluke at all, but rather you whining and moaning as you fall apart around him was just as beautiful and raunchy as he had hoped.

“Pretty little thing, you’ve always been insatiable,” he would have almost felt like a school bully with the way he spoke to you, but the shivering and puppy eyes he gets from you in response only encourages him.

“Please Taeyong, please please make me come,” you pout and plead up at him, the feeling you crave only a few pushes away as your stomach flutters and flexes in anticipation and pleasure, “want you to come in me so bad.”

He feels something inside him snap at the words that push past your lips, and the hand around your neck and his thrusts only become rougher. A yelping gasp that comes from you is the only thing he needs to know he’s done exactly what you wanted.

With a few more rolls of your cramping fingers, you're coming hard around him. Your second orgasm hits you harder than the first, the way he continues to stretch you pushing you through every second, and all you can do is squeeze the toy rabbit as your back arches sharply off the bed.

He loses the grip on your knee as your legs wrap around him, and the way you force him against you and the way you feel wrapped around him sets his own orgasm off. The pleasure making his chest press against your as you two rock against one another mindlessly.

His voice is raspy and dark as he lets out his own moans into your ear, and the noises only make you grasp for him to pull him closer. Your fingers curl into his hair as you return to a position similar to the one you only had momentarily after your first orgasm, but this time your clinging pushes him to the side and his moans slip into endeared chuckles, grunts, and groans.

You make no move to let him slip from you as he softens inside you, but instead you wiggle until your face is pressed into the dip of his neck and the rabbit is pressed against his side as you hold them both. You’re still racked with aftershocks, and the only thing you two can do is twitch against each other as every motion pushes him against the nerves inside you, making overstimulation bite at both of your bellies.

After what feels like an eternity of laying there, the only sounds surrounding you is your own panting and the quiet sound of the pause screen music coming from his game. But with a quiet huff and his fingers pushing under your shirt to run over your spine, he finally speaks again.

“Sorry… if that was ...weird,” he sounds unsure of his wording, sucking air through his teeth as he rolls his thoughts around his mind, but you only cuddle further into him in response, “I get it if that’s not something you’d ever want to do again.”

“Hm?” you let the noise slip out in confusion as it takes the words and your previous actions connect, “oh the stuffed animal?”

“Yeah that was… I could have asked before instead of springing it on you like that, that was kind of weird,” you can hear him grit his teeth in hesitation, “and I know you’re into the dirty talk thing but I was a little harsh. It was all just weird I’m sorry.”

“Taeyong,” you push up with your elbow on the bed to move just far enough away to look into his eye, “I mean if you’d be more comfortable bringing it up beforehand when you want to try something then of course, but no what just happened was really hot.”

“Are you serious?”

You have to jerk back slightly with a laugh when he springs up slightly with his own words, but the way you grin at him calms him almost instantly.

“Yeah I mean, the way you acted and everything, and I’m absolutely not against getting to hold onto something while you fuck me, I liked it,” you let out a dramatically airy sigh as you lay against him again, a question popping into your mind once you’re settled.

“Where did this idea even come from, I’m usually never anywhere near your stuffed animals when I come over?”

“Oh, um I doubt you remember but one day when I was at your place, you grabbed that little bear I got you when you were coming and I just never could stop thinking about it,” he admits trailing off towards the end, almost shameful.

“My bear!” you’re sitting up again, a scandalized look on your face as you swat at his chest, “that’s my most prized possession you pervert!”

“Hey! You’re the one that grabbed it while coming, pervert!”

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

Baby Broke Down In My Bed Again

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: this came to be because 1. I wanted to try and write a more sanguine, less patient reader 2. @minaslittleone do you remember a long time ago when we agreed that someone with as much self-hatred as Wilhemina probably had moments when sex wasn’t bearable, or something like that? Well, I decided to write a fic about it. Reader x W’s relationship has been going on for quite a while in this one, because I wanted a less guarded, more trusting and forgiving Wilhemina.

Word count:  ≈ 8 700

You collapsed on the bed with a groan and let your body sink into the mattress. It had been such a long, boring and yet incredibly busy day, that had made you feel way older than your years. All you wanted now was to forget about it entirely and let warmth and content take over.

Wilhemina was tucked in on her side of the bed, reading a book. She had been particularly quiet this evening, seemingly lost in her head, had played with her food and answered your questions with short, annoyed sentences. You had let her be, given her space, regularly glancing at her for any sign of pain, but her back didn’t seem to be the trouble. She had helped you clear the table, and the soft brush of her hand against your arm had felt like a silent apology.

Now you snuggled up to her side, curling your body to fill all the gaps between you and her, and planting soft kisses on the bare skin between her collarbones.

“What are you reading?” you whispered, draping one arm over her stomach to pull her closer.

“Still the same book,” she answered, rather curtly.

You peered up at her, planted more kisses along her collarbone, then buried your face in her neck. Your eyes fluttered closed. She was so warm, so incredibly soft and safe, your safe place; you felt the tension slowly leave your body, and be replaced with sweet, happy content that nestled cozily in your stomach.

Home. In the past year you and her had built your home together. You had painted your walls in her colors and she had filled her rooms with your laughter. By now you knew by heart which parts of her floor creaked when you put your foot on it, which parts of her body to press your fingers on to make her moan.

“Will you read to me?” you whispered against her skin.

It came out too muffled for her to understand. She made a questioning noise, but it bore so much annoyance you decided against repeating your question. Instead, you slipped your fingers under her night shirt and started stroking slow circles on her stomach, the softness of her skin sparking a low fire where there had been only warmth.

You snuggled closer to her still, nudging her neck with your nose and breathing her in. She was intoxicating, you thought, as you planted soft, lazy kisses that lingered longer on her skin as your brain slowly awoke to a growing need, so ridiculously intoxicating; you pushed yourself up on one elbow for better access as you trailed kisses up her neck, your other hand sliding up to caress the swell of her right breast.

Wilhemina set her book aside, which made you smirk victoriously. You sucked on the skin over her pulse point just as she lay one hand on your shoulder, and was about to flick your thumb over her nipple when she gently pushed you away.

There was surprise in your eyes when you met hers. Wilhemina was so incredibly hungry for affection she rarely rejected it when you so eagerly offered it to her.

You scanned her face, your breathing quick and expectant.

Wilhemina held your gaze and shook her head. “Not tonight, Y/N.”

She didn’t look annoyed anymore, just sad. It was this sadness that silenced the protestations tingling on your tongue.

You swallowed down disappointment and planted one last kiss on her collarbone before lying down again, with your face mere inches from her shoulder. You closed your eyes, forced yourself to take a few deep breaths till the heat in your head and in-between your legs was back under control.

“Are you okay?” you whispered.

“Of course I am,” she retorted, but the tone of her voice betrayed her.

Her voice was always softer in the evening. There was a warm fondness to it that let giggles and chuckles and secrets go through almost unimpeded. Four months or so into your relationship, she had allowed herself to take off parts of her armor and hang them next to her coat after she had closed the front door to her place or yours. Weapons were set on the floor, and the weight of them replaced with the weight of your body on top of hers.

But tonight, she was using the voice which to your ears sounded like the low, threatening growl of faraway thunder. Meant to warn, to intimidate, to make you duck your head and run away.

For a few minutes you lay in silence, watching her.

“Do you want to keep on reading?” you asked eventually.

“No.”

“Should we turn off the light, then?”

“Don’t you need to get off first?”

The spite and harshness of her voice had you reeling for a second. You pretended it didn’t hurt.

“Excuse me?”

Wilhemina’s eyes met yours, dark and glazed. “Don’t you need to get off first?”

This time, her voice wasn’t spiteful but mocking, condescending. That made it even worse.

“No,” you answered, gaze boring into hers, “I don’t need to get off first.” You paused. “Did something happen today?”

“Nothing happened today,” Wilhemina snapped.

You swallowed back anger, forced your voice to stay calm. “Then what is it?”

“What is what?”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

With a groan you closed your eyes and rolled away from her, reaching out to turn off the bedside lamp.

The darkness only increased your anger. You lay fuming with your back to her, curled in on yourself and cursing that brain of hers that was so ridiculously stubborn and scared and hurt. There was no talking to her when she was behaving like this and yet it was killing you, not knowing how to help her even after a whole year of loving her.

And what troubled you was, she had opened up to you before. Not enough times that you couldn’t count them on the fingers of one hand, but still. And you couldn’t begin to understand why tonight she had decided to shut you out.

You heard her shift behind you. Before you knew what you were doing, you were turning on the light again and sitting up.

“Talk to me,” you said – maybe a bit too harshly, but you couldn’t do better.

Wilhemina slowly opened her eyes to meet your gaze.

“I have nothing to tell you,” she said slowly and quietly, “except that if you need to get off, the bathroom –”

“What happened today?” you cut her off.

Wilhemina’s face hardened. “I told you before,” - voice slower still, and mocking, mocking so cruelly as if she were talking to a moron -, “nothing happened today.”

“I’m not turning off the light until you’ve talked to me.”

She smirked. “Suit yourself. I can sleep just fine with the light on.” And with that, she closed her eyes.

You huffed, staring down at her disbelievingly. For a minute you waited, refusing to believe she was going to end the conversation like this. But she didn’t move, didn’t make a noise. You watched the slow, regular rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, almost mesmerized, then groaned.

Hot-tempered, your parents had always called you. You knew they were right, and you had been successfully working on it. But tonight, something in you snapped.

You had been so patient with Wilhemina. Taken one step forward, two backwards. Braved the storm, kneeled down and extended one hand toward the terrified and the abandoned shivering in the rain. But tonight, you let the anger win.  

So, with your heart pumping fire instead of blood and its smoke filling your head, you lay down on your back, spread your legs open and touched yourself.

And you started to moan. Loud, exaggerated moans, and you made a show of moving your hips so hard the bed creaked.

“Fuck,” you cried, moving your wrist in fast circles that brought you no pleasure at all, “hmm,” biting your lower lip and closing your eyes; you slipped your hand lower down, and forced a finger inside. “Fuck,” you screamed, “I haven’t been fucked so good in months!”

Stop it, a voice pleaded somewhere deep inside your head. You ignored it. You bucked your hips against your hand, slid your other hand up your body to tease your nipple. As you forced another exaggerated moan out of your mouth, you increased the pace between your legs, anger making you desperate for release and increasing with every second you were denied it.

You pushed another finger inside, wincing at the pain, and rubbed harder at your clit, demanding pleasure. You tensed your muscles to help your body reach its climax; and then, finally, finally, felt pleasure build and build and sweep over you. As your body gave a few weak shakes you remembered to arch your back and to cry out, “Yes! God! I haven’t felt so good in so long!”

With a dramatic sigh you let your body fall back on the mattress and brought one hand up to your forehead. There was a drumming in your ears, and something unpleasant that nudged in your chest. You closed your eyes, feigning exhaustion, forcing your chest to heave, and waited a few seconds before you stole a glance at Wilhemina.

She hadn’t made a single noise, nor moved an inch, during your little show. She was still lying on her back, barely breathing, eyes wide open and unblinking. The only thing that proved she was still alive was the tension in her shoulders and the tightness in her jaw.

In the following silence, the smoke in your head cleared. The drumming in your ears slowed down, the tingling between your legs disappeared; but the thing in your chest grew. It grew and crushed your heart till it became hard to breathe. 

You were about to say Wilhemina’s name when she slowly sat up in bed. She paused, her back to you, and reached out for her cane. Her hand was shaking.

You closed your eyes and listened to her footsteps as she fumbled about the room for a while, dropped something, picked it up; walked out. Her footsteps receded down the corridor; heels; and then, you heard the front door close.

**

Your flat was empty and silent when you got up at dawn the next morning. For a long moment you stood still in the middle of the room, not looking at anything in particular, dread gnawing at your insides.

You weren’t sure you could remember what had happened the night before. The pictures were too blurry. There were memories, but could they be real? You didn’t want them to be. Everything you could remember had anger and cruelty woven into it, things that had ugly faces and smiled ugly, selfish smiles.

The side of your bed where Wilhemina usually slept was unmade. You picked up her pillow, pressed it to your nose and breathed in her scent. Then you walked into your bathroom and saw with relief that her things were still there, the toothbrush and makeup products she always left at your place and whose sight you cherished every morning more than you cherished that of the rising sun.

You turned, walked into your living room. Her coat was gone, so were her shoes. There was no note on the table. In the sink still lay the two mugs you had been too lazy to wash the evening before.

On the verge of panic you picked up your phone and dialed Mutt’s number. He was a friend of a friend, and it had been thanks to him that you had first met Wilhemina all those years ago. Mutt’s idiocy and complete lack of maturity had, strangely, grown on you. You two sometimes spent drunken evenings together, watching movies and screaming at the screen every time something happened that was scientifically impossible. In the company of Mutt it was easy to be stupid, and gross, and mean. So, you thought, as you listened to the ringing tone, Mutt was the kind of person you needed right now: someone to confess your sin to without fear of being judged, for without a doubt he had, at one point in his life, done worse; someone that would give you such ridiculously bad advice you could, if you were lucky, withdraw a few crumbs of wisdom from the madness.

“The fuck, asshole,” Mutt barked into the phone, “have you seen the time?”

You closed your eyes, wincing. You could almost smell the alcohol in his voice. “Sorry, Mutt. I really need to talk to you.”

Mutt yawned, groaned, fell silent. All you could hear was the quick beating of your heart. The clamminess of your hand made the phone slippery, and your eyes were starting to sting.

“I, um,” you started. Took a breath, released it shakily. “So, possibly, I fucked up.”

There was a noise like another distorted yawn. “Babe, why am I not surprised.”

“Did something happen at work yesterday?” you asked.

“Yeah, Lily spilled her Starbucks on Jeff’s laptop and it made all the arms go ballistic –”

“I mean,” you cut him off, sniffling, “I mean with Wilhemina.”

Silence. A noise, as if Mutt was moving.

“Mutt?”

“Gimme a sec, I’m thinking. No, nothing that I can remember. Hey, did you know that –”

“Are you sure, Mutt?” you insisted. You felt the hot, wet lick of a tear as it trailed down your cheek. “Nothing that someone said that made her snap? Are you sure nothing –”

“She snaps at everyone 24/7, how am I supposed to know,” Mutt grumbled.

“I fucked up,” you sobbed into the receiver. Your body bent forward with the force of the guilt that finally washed over you. “Mutt,” you whined, “when she comes to work, could you tell her to call me?”

“You’re scaring me, Y/N,” Mutt said.

“Tell her to call me. Lock her up in her office or something until she agrees, Mutt, please. I can’t lose her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N, and it’s too early for this shit. But yes, yes, ok, I will. Not the lock her up thing. I don’t want to be caned.” There was a pause, as you sniffed and sobbed, not even caring to wipe your cheeks and nose, then Mutt added tentatively: “There’s a football game tonight if you want to come over and watch it with me. Don’t call, just barge in. Goodnight.” And with that he hung up.

You called in sick at work. You spent the day pacing up and down in your flat, occasionally throwing yourself on your bed or couch to sob.

Your phone never rang. Not that y ou really expected it to. But still – you had hope.

When the hands on your clock announced 3pm, you decided you couldn’t wait anymore, and drove to Kineros. You parked your car on the sidewalk. Somehow you managed to reach Mutt and Jeff’s office before security caught up with you. They narrowed their eyes at you, but sent the security guard off.

“When I said barge in,” Mutt started, “I meant my place.”

“I’m here to see Wilhemina,” you panted. “Is she in her office?”

“Yeah, but she warned her assistant not to let anyone bother her and I think –”

“I won’t be long,” you cut him off, rushing out of the room. One second later you were back. “Show me the way?”

Wilhemina didn’t look up as Mutt and you walked down the long corridor that led to her office. You scanned her figure worriedly, noting the vacant look in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders and the tight line that was her mouth as she typed quickly on her laptop.

“Babe,” Mutt started, “there’s –”

Wilhemina cut him off, slowly raising her head. “Do not let yourself think for a second that just because you –”

Her eyes fell on you.

Slowly, her mouth closed. You almost stopped in your tracks at the rage that ignited in her eyes.

“I’ll let you two lovebirds deal with your things, then,” Mutt said with a nervous laugh, before turning on his heels. You barely registered his departure.

For a few, long, painful seconds, you stood frozen in front of Wilhemina’s desk, your hands clutching the hem of your shirt, holding Wilhemina’s burning gaze and your whole body vibrating with love and fear and regret; and then, something in your chest burst, and you lurched forward.

“Mina I –”

“I told Lily to wait for you in the room next door,” she cut you off, voice low and so terribly slow.

You blinked. “Who’s Lily?”

“Mutt and Jeff’s favorite pleasure giver. Just the kind of human scum you need, as you made very clear last night.”

“You pushed me to it,” you mumbled half-heartedly.

Unfortunately, Wilhemina heard you.

Slowly, performing the precise balance exercise she had rehearsed thousands of times before, she stood up.

“Because you refused to speak to me,” you were quick to add. “You’re a human being, Mina, not an oyster –”  

“You’re so fucking eloquent,” Wilhemina taunted. “If only you could control your emotions as well as you can express yourself.”

You took yet another step forward, your stomach pressing against the edge of her desk, as you felt the familiar hot tingle which meant anger had fought its way through the crowd of all the other emotions battling inside you, and had now reached the stage.

“If only you could actually express yourself,” you spat back, refusing to lower or avert your eyes no matter how painful it was becoming to hold her gaze. It was too intense, too furious and too dark. “Why are you doing this? Why are you shutting me out all of a sudden? I feel like we’re back on day one.” You leaned towards her in exasperation – and in hope, that maybe you could still reach her. Your eyes widened in a plea, your hands closed around the edge of her desk. “What’s going on? I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

Wilhemina’s face closed up even more at your words. The anger in her eyes disappeared under a thick veil.

“I don’t need your help,” she said, still as terribly, terribly slowly.

“I’ll go find Lily, then,” you fumed.

“You do that.”

Wilhemina’s eyes still expressed nothing at all, and it broke your heart, for that nothing wasn’t here to hide her anger. She had no problem letting anger show. That nothing was here to hide how badly she was hurting.

It made you want to break something. Anything, but mostly the walls around her heart. To hit your fists against them and to tear them down brick by brick and to crash your way into her.

And above all the rest rose a sense of helplessness, for you had no idea how to fix this. You had shot a perfect shot, hit the center of the target, the arrow’s head tearing through the heart. And as the hunter bends over their kill, you held Wilhemina’s blank, glazed eyes, and caught a glimpse of the damage you had done.

And then, a wave of revolt. For she had hurt you, too. Had refused to let you in and spat bitter words at you.

There were just too many things happening inside of you, too big a crowd of emotions. You were boiling and you didn’t know how to cool down.

You turned on your heel and were about to storm off when the crowd suddenly held its breath. Anger had bent down and helped frustration up onto the stage.  

You turned around, fists clenched and eyes stinging. “I’m sure Lily will tell me more about herself in five minutes than you ever will in five years!” you burst out.

“Then why are you still here?” Wilhemina growled lowly. “Or are you too stupid to understand how one walks? One foot aft-”

“Because I love you!” you burst out. “This past year with you has been the best in my whole goddamn life and it kills me, that you won’t let me in.” You shook your head, briefly closing your eyes against the emotion that you could feel bubbling out of you. “I want to love you but you won’t let me,” you whined.

Wilhemina didn’t reply. She turned a shade pinker, but her lips stayed tightly shut and her eyes stayed veiled as she processed your words. When finally she spoke, her voice was laced with bitterness.

“You seem to think of yourself as the victim,” she said slowly, and a flicker of anger made its way out and shone in her eyes. ”I don’t know much about being loved,” spitting out the words as if they could kill her, “but I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to hurt like this.”

At first you thought the words had slipped unbidden from her lips. It still surprised you when she would confess to being in pain, physically or mentally. Of course there were signs you had learnt to recognise, a clenched jaw, glazed eyes, wanton snapping, but Wilhemina rarely gave her pain a voice. Pain was shameful. It had to be ignored and never, never to be processed.

But then, as you watched her, stunned, and her body hunched up as if she wished she could disappear, and her eyes turned vulnerable, the certainty settled inside you, painful but incredibly warm. It hadn’t been an accidental push, but a voluntary jump.

There was no uprising. Anger, frustration, the stage, suddenly vanished.

Without thinking you stepped around her desk, but stopped when Wilhemina took several steps backward.

Her name left your mouth in a broken plea, but she shook her head and then all of a sudden her façade shattered.

The quiver in her voice when she spoke next made your heart ache.

“I know I cannot ask for much but I thought – I thought in a relationship at least the most basic respect –”

She trailed off, jaw and mouth still working to form words her voice refused to carry.

You shook your head, blinking back tears. All the fight in you had disappeared; all that was left was a terrible sense of dread and guilt.

“No no no, Mina I… sweetheart of course you can ask for everything, I…”

Tentatively you took a step forward. This time, Wilhemina didn’t move. She was peering at you, chin uncharacteristically tilted downward, eyes getting shinier by the second.

You held up both hands in front of you.

“I didn’t mean it,” you heard yourself say. “You’re not inadequate, I – I didn’t mean any of it, Mina. Look at me,” you added forcefully, as her eyes moved to some random thing over your shoulder and threatened to glaze over again. “I swear I didn’t mean it. I got mad, and I fucked up, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Certainly your last few words were what Wilhemina had been dying to hear, for her shoulders suddenly slumped. Tears pooled in her eyes that she harshly wiped away before they had time to stain, and she let out a long, trembling sigh that seemed to take her strength away with it.

A strangled, mirthless laugh burst from your lips. Your arms fell limply to your sides.

You were too scared to even dare breathe properly. Scared that Wilhemina would order you away and refuse to ever see you again, or, more likely, that she would shut you out and retreat behind her walls, pretend she was alright, that nothing had happened and that she hadn’t even felt the prickle of the needle. But her face stayed open, her eyes vulnerable as she wiped at them repeatedly in an attempt to maintain her composure.

“Will you, uh.” You shifted your weight on your feet, unable to stay still for the sight of her so unguarded made you desperate to reach out and hug her. Gather up the pieces and glue them back together. “Will you let me pick you up from work tonight? I can drive you back to your place, and we can, if you want, talk.” Your chest hurt. You leaned towards her, your voice breaking on a sob. “I can make it right, Mina, I know I can. Please let me in – I’m so sorry.”

Wilhemina bit down on her lower lip to stop it from quivering. She nodded, and when her hand came up again to wipe her eyes, tears rolled between her fingers and down her cheeks.

Without thinking you extended your hand towards her, and briefly brushed her wrist with your fingertips.

“Okay,” she breathed, nodding, fingers still swiping at her face.

You peered up at her hopefully. “Okay?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” you laughed, so incredibly relieved you felt like bursting into tears.

A laugh left Wilhemina’s lips, too, sad and half-strangled. She moved her arm until it met your hand. Your fingers automatically wrapped around her wrist, thumb gently stroking her skin as she swiped at her eyes.

She looked smaller, and so much younger, a little girl who felt too much and had been unwillingly shoved into an adult’s body. You wondered if this was her with her soul stripped completely naked.

You had expected high walls built higher and stronger, defensive armies gone mad with wrath at the blow you had dealt - not an open gate. What had you done to deserve it? This was so unhoped for, so dearly cherished, whatever had triggered it, be it trust or love or both.

You weren’t sure how to express your gratitude. Weren’t sure you were worthy of such a precious thing as her trust. Your hands had never held a baby bird that fragile before.

You gave her wrist a squeeze. “I’ll leave you alone now,” you whispered, “and –”

“Actually would you mind –” She cut herself short. Her gaze searched yours for a second, pleadingly, begging you to understand without her having to resort to words.

“Yes?” you breathed, body leaning closer to hers so there was no more than one inch between her and you.

Her eyes met yours again, dark and sad and something in your chest like a string attached to your heart pulled towards her, desperate to hold with healing hands and soothing warmth.  

“Could you –”

Again, she bit her lip against the words she wouldn’t allow herself to utter. You searched her eyes to try and understand as frustration flicked across her face, nails digging into flesh, lips twisting; until finally she released a breath and with it burst out, terrified and angry and shaking, “Would you mind just holding me for a second?”

She winced at her own words, her nails digging deeper into her skin in disgust as fresh tears pooled in her eyes. With your heart in your throat you wrapped your arms around her shoulders and pulled her close.

How easy it would have been to burst into tears and wail pitifully in her arms. God knew how badly you wanted to. But Wilhemina was being so brave, and you had to make it up to her for the way you had behaved, so you swallowed back your tears and forced yourself to take a deep breath to ease the ache in your chest.

You buried your face in Wilhemina’s hair, squeezing her so tight in your arms part of you was terrified you were hurting her - the other part didn’t care. Your fingers dug into her shoulders, and hers clutched the back of your shirt, her lips grazing the skin of your neck but not daring to press a kiss.

Her eyes were red and puffy when you met her gaze again. Gently you cupped her face, and dropped a kiss on each of her burning cheeks – then, tentatively, brushed your lips against hers.

A noise that was half a sob, half laughter pushed out of Wilhemina’s mouth and then her lips pressed against yours, hot and wet and needy but with a shyness to them, so hesitant, as if this was your first kiss and she was expecting rejection. You pressed your chest against hers to show her you were not going anywhere, slid your hand up her back and pushed your palm against her spine, a silent I want you, all of you. So Wilhemina nipped your lower lip, and only let herself relax when you hummed appreciatively.

You held her hand as she fought to regain her composure; straightened her shoulders, veiled her eyes, and shielded her heart. You accompanied her to the nearest bathroom, and gave her hand one last squeeze before you let go of it.

Mutt and Jeff peered up at you as you stomped into their office, collapsed into Mutt’s arms and finally let yourself burst into tears.

Mutt gave your back several awkward pats as you sobbed, clinging to him and wiping your eyes and nose on his shirt. Jeff’s awkwardness was almost palpable, and when you pulled away from Mutt, still sobbing, all he could think of was to offer you some coke, and then a drink when you refused.

“No,” you whined, “no, I need to stay sober. I need to make it right.”

“Jeez, did you kill someone?” Mutt asked, with a glance in Jeff’s direction and a guffaw to hide his nervousness.

“I thought about what you asked me,” Mutt went on after a few seconds. “Sorry, babe, but I can’t think of anything out of the ordinary that happened yesterday.”

To kill time you went on a walk, and ended up buying a huge bouquet of roses and dahlias for Wilhemina, as well as two boxes of fancy dark chocolates, a very fluffy lilac blanket, and two bottles of Wilhemina’s favorite wine. You stacked all those gifts in the backseat of your car, and walked back into Kineros at 6:30pm sharp.

Wilhemina was waiting for you in the lobby, sitting very straight on a chair, both hands tightly wrapped around the head of her cane.

“Oh shit,” you whined, “was it 6 today?”

She nodded. You poured out apologies, which she didn’t seem to hear as she slowly pushed herself up from her chair. You fell silent when you realised she had waited half an hour for you, despite it all. Something nice fluttered in your chest.

In the car Wilhemina’s eyes fell on her gifts, then shifted to you, questioningly, and her cheeks reddened when you explained it was all for her.

The drive was awkward. You turned the radio on to fill in the silence, opened your window because the air felt too hot, fidgeted on your seat and drummed on the wheel every time you had to stop at a red light. Several times you opened your mouth to speak, only to close it again.

Wilhemina’s hand was shaking when she opened her front door. You dumped all the gifts you had bought her on the sofa and hurried to help her out of her coat, and did she want you to make her some tea? Was she hungry? Would she rather you ran her a bath? You could make her dinner, her favorite dish, and if an ingredient was lacking you would run to the store so if she needed anything else you could buy it too, and -

“I don’t need anything, Y/N,” she cut you off, not meanly, but with a firmness to her voice and an absence of warmth that effectively made you shut up.

You stood still in the middle of her living room, not knowing what to do and mind running a mile a minute. While Wilhemina tended to the flowers, you decided to fluff and rearrange the pillows on her couch, and when you were done and couldn’t find anything else to do, you hurried to her and planted yourself at a safe distance behind her as you blurted out, “Mina, I’m so sorry.”

Wilhemina’s fingers stilled for a second over the flowers. She didn’t speak, didn’t nod, didn’t acknowledge your apology.

“What I did yesterday was terrible and I don’t know how to make it up to you,” you pushed on, voice quivering but still loud, for you were determined to mend whatever you could still mend. “I - I don’t know how to apologize properly to you, and I’m terrified I’m going to lose you.”

Silence. Your body felt hot suddenly, as if someone had sparked a fire within you. You ran one hand over your forehead nervously, heart drumming in your ears, peering at Wilhemina’s shoulders. Her ponytail fell neatly down her back, red frizz grazing the pale skin of her neck just below her hairline.  

Silence lingered. Your eyes fell hopelessly to the floor.

“The gifts were a nice touch,” Wilhemina said.

You looked up at her, automatically took a step forward.

“Were they really? I’m so glad. I didn’t know if -”

“Nothing happened yesterday.” 

You cut yourself short, mouth still open as you stared at her in surprise. From where you were standing behind her, you could only see the sharp lines of her left jaw, cheekbone and brow. She was staring fixedly at a rose, hands resting on the table on either side of the vase and supporting most of her weight.

“I passed a couple on the sidewalk and they laughed, and I couldn’t help but –” Her voice faltered, eyes closing in frustration. “I thought they were laughing at me.”

Quickly you closed the distance between her and you and leaned forward to take a better look at her face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you breathed.

“Because it’s so stupid,” she spat, eyes still closed, anger making her voice tremble. “It’s so fucking stupid, Y/N. I know they could have been laughing at anything, but my stupid, stupid…”A hiss, one hand coming up to press her palm against her forehead.

“It’s not stupid,” you heard yourself say. Your fingers brushed her arm, a silent question, hopeful, tentative, your skin drawn to her warmth always. And just as she had done a few hours ago, she leaned into your touch, and your fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“It made me so incredibly…There was so much…” Her palm hit her forehead as a sob pushed out of her mouth. “It shouldn’t have affected me like that. I shouldn’t have let it. But there was so much… I couldn’t even bear you touching me like that,” she breathed.

“So much what?” you whispered, grazing your lips over her shoulder.

A long, shaky breath. You could almost hear the words screaming in Wilhemina’s head, pushing against the dam in her throat but not strong enough to break through it. Instead, she removed her hand from your grip, reached into her pocket, and slipped a small piece of paper into your hand.

“What’s this?” you asked.

You unfolded the piece of paper to find a phone number in Wilhemina’s handwriting.

Wilhemina sniffed, took a breath to speak. “It’s Lily’s.”

You looked up at her confusedly.

“For the days like yesterday,” Wilhemina explained. Her gaze fled yours, sad and ashamed, before meeting it again. The hand that had been touching yours mere seconds ago now wrapped around the head of her cane and dug into it. “For the nights I can’t satisfy you.”

For a moment you stared at her, unable or unwilling to process her words, while she shrank back further away from you. For a moment there was only white noise in your head.

And then something hot rose inside you, familiar and hated and too strong.  

So, hold on – hold on.

“Is that what you want?” you said – too angry. You were losing control again, brain filled with smoke and it felt like you were listening to yourself speak instead of thinking the words. “You want me to fuck somebody else?”

The words boomed through the room. Louder and scarier than thunder. Wilhemina and you were left staring at each other, too small and too helpless to face something that big and that powerful.

You watched as Wilhemina’s face hardened by the second, drawbridge being raised against the assault. “Of course not,” she said.

“Then why the hell would you give this to me?” you spat, waving the piece of paper in her face.

Wilhemina fought for a second more, before her face crumpled and her gaze dropped to the floor. “I told you,” she whispered, arm coming up to hug herself.

The gesture made something break in you. Some of the smoke in your brain cleared out through the crack.

“You’re a blithering idiot,” you heard yourself hiss. It sounded half-convinced, but it made Wilhemina wince anyway. “If you think I’d want that,” you added.

“And you’re as stupid as you look,” Wilhemina hissed back weakly, “if you get mad at me for trying to help you.”

“I’m mad because you seem to have such a low opinion of me,” you grumbled, crossing your arms against your chest.

“I know there are human needs, which one who is in a relationship is expected to-”

“My ‘human needs’ do not control me.”

A faint, mirthless laugh. “Of course they don’t.”

“They don’t.”

“Right.”

“Yes, right.”

Silence.

The last of your anger was fizzling out. You could still feel it crackling faintly in your upper body, but the last embers were being stifled by something colder and heavier.

The silence buzzed in your ears.

Stubbornly you held Wilhemina’s gaze, trying to look mad, but your fists were unclenching, and it was sadness – it was sadness, taking over. And with it came a sudden sense of exhaustion.

You didn’t want to fight anymore. You wanted to pretend everything was alright, close your eyes and go to sleep. And in the morning the sunshine would have driven out past mistakes, selfishness and hurt, and you would get up with a happy heart and music in your head.

Your gaze wavered. You pretended to examine the piece of paper in your hand, but your vision was swimming, and the clamminess of your palm had smudged the ink. There was a shape that must have been a zero but now looked like a battered eight, and the last two numbers you couldn’t venture to guess what they had been.

You ran your thumb over those broken remnants of Wilhemina’s neat handwriting. Wondered what she had been feeling, when she had pressed the nib of her pen on paper, and had her hand shaken at all? Some people talked with their hands, Wilhemina’s had a language of their own. They would fidget and brush and grab and claw, and they would shake – and you would hold.

Always, dear Lord, always – you had promised.  

You glanced up at Wilhemina again, to find her looking back at you, tears flickering their way down her cheeks.

“Should we, er.” You paused, looking down at the floor again. “Should we have dinner?”

You weren’t sure Wilhemina would play along. But when you gathered enough courage to glance up at her, she was wiping her cheeks, and she nodded.

Wilhemina disappeared into the bathroom while you cooked pasta. Your hands moved on auto-pilot, your brain too numb and too tired to think. You were dumping bits of butter into the pasta when Wilhemina emerged, hair down and body wrapped in a long-sleeved, loose-fitting, thin periwinkle nightdress you had bought her a few months ago.

The fact that she had chosen this nightdress in particular made fresh tears pool in your eyes. It felt like a peace offering, an extended hand you were only too eager to hold. You placed a plate on the table in front of her, and whispered something about her looking very nice. Wilhemina acknowledged the compliment with a nod.

She played with her food until you coaxed her into actually eating some of it, and then you took your turn in the bathroom while she did the dishes.

In front of the bed you hesitated. You didn’t know whether Wilhemina wanted you in there with her, or if she’d rather you slept on the couch, or worse, if she wanted you to drive back to your place. Would she play by the rules? You eyed her as she walked around the room rearranging things and closing the shutters, and planted herself across the bed from you.

Your gazes met. You were trying your best not to chew on your lower lip. Wilhemina’s fingers were fidgeting with the hem of her nightdress. For a few, painfully long seconds it went on like this, until Wilhemina lifted the sheet and lay down underneath it.

You waited for her to settle and then, deciding her silence was an invitation, slipped under the sheet yourself.

Wilhemina reached out and turned off the bedside light.

Hoping you could fall asleep was stupid. Every inch of you was thrumming with nervousness. You wondered if Wilhemina could feel the quick beating of your heart, so loud it seemed to make the whole bed shake.

What time was it? You had no idea. You forced yourself to lie as still as possible, with your hands folded on your chest and your eyes fixed on the ceiling. When you couldn’t stop yourself anymore, you turned on your side, facing Wilhemina.

Blue light seeped through the shutters behind her. So the sun had barely set. What had Wilhemina been thinking, when she had closed the shutters and seen the light still clinging to the sky? Had she ignored it, resigned on playing pretend, that this was a happy night with bright twinkling stars in the sky and on her left the pale halo heralding the rising of the moon? That she wasn’t bleeding inside but warm, and that sleep would find her and press a kiss to her eyelids like a gentle lover.

Wilhemina’s eyes were wide open, shining in the dark. You raised a hand, hesitated.

“Can I touch you?” you breathed.

Something growled. You were not playing by the rules. In this ideal world you and Wilhemina had silently agreed to live in, there was no need for asking. Permission was always granted. Your fingers were to press against her skin freely and there was no need for checking because everything was always fine. This was how you were supposed to play. Cheaters would be kicked out of the room.

Wilhemina shifted, settled on her side, facing you. The distance between you two was small, less than the length of your hand.

She nodded.

Your fingers grazed her shoulder first, a safe place, before moving until they reached the edge of her nightdress. They jumped over her neck to land on her chin, and then spread out, cupping her cheek.

Wilhemina leaned into your touch and let out a sigh at the familiar softness and warmth of you. She made a movement as if to shift closer to you, stopped herself. For a moment you simply stroked her cheek, and then you continued your exploration of her, hand slipping down her chin to brush past her collarbone and down between her breasts.

There had been nothing sexual about your caress, but Wilhemina reached for your hand anyway and kept it still over her heart. Her eyes met yours, sad and ashamed.

“I know, baby,” you breathed. You offered her a smile you weren’t sure she could see in the dark. Laced your fingers with hers, gave her hand a squeeze. “I won’t, I promise.”

Wilhemina bit her lower lip to stop it from quivering. You pressed a gentle kiss on her cheek. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay,” you breathed against her skin, before pressing another kiss on it.

The thing growled again. In the ideal world you had agreed to live in, it scolded, your hand should have slipped lower and moans should already be filling the room. But in this ideal world, one more piece of Wilhemina would be breaking, and one piece of you would start to rot.  

Wilhemina draped one arm over your waist, and when you felt her tentatively nudge your collarbone with her nose, before nestling her face in the crook of your neck, when you felt her shift so that her thigh pressed against yours, nightdress riding up and her skin warm and soft, you closed your eyes to block out anything that wasn’t her and you, and the space your bodies occupied.

And how it made your heart swell, the trust her actions told of. Pressing herself against you like that, and trusting that you would be true to your words, and not seek to take it further. Or was her need for affection so strong she was willing to take the risk? You decided to believe in the former.

Your hand that had been on her heart slid up her chest and underneath her nightdress to feel more of her. You buried your face in her hair.

“I don’t mind whether we make love or not,” you whispered. You cleared your throat and said it louder, in case she hadn’t heard the first time, or had refused to hear. “I really don’t. What matters to me is that you’re happy – or at least, that you feel safe.”

Your hand started tracing lazy circles on her skin. Wilhemina’s lips pushed against the skin of your neck, nose blowing hot air on it.

“If I reacted the way I did yesterday,” you pushed on, “it was only because I got mad at what you said, and because I knew you were holding something back from me.” You swallowed, drew a nervous shape across her shoulder. “Sometimes… sometimes it gets so hard for me to control my anger. It’s not an excuse, I’m just telling you so you understand what happened. I know I never should have reacted the way I did.”

You pulled away then, determined to have her look at you before you uttered the next words. You had forgotten it was very likely she wouldn’t be able to see your expression in the dark. It seemed to you honesty shone of its own light.  

Slowly, her eyes opened to meet yours. You cupped her cheek and offered her a smile. It was quivering, burdened by guilt and remorse, but it was there still.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, loudly, because you felt a whisper wouldn’t be enough. You wanted to scream the words out.

Wilhemina nodded, made to hide, to bury her face in your chest but you gently held her head up so she could look at the honesty in your eyes. Her teeth sank into her lower lip in a vain attempt to stop herself from breaking down, but her chin was trembling in your palm, and soon enough you felt tears slip down between your fingers.  

Angrily you pushed your forehead against hers. “You’re not inadequate,” you breathed. “You’re not inadequate. Do you hear me?” She nodded, a sob pushing out of her just as her lips caught yours so it petered out in your mouth. You kissed her back, spoke the next words between her teeth. “I don’t think I’d ever been made love to before you. It felt nice, but you… every time you as much as touch me I feel a thousand raptures. Do you hear me?”

Her tongue pushed inside your mouth, despair making her too brutal, and she was still choking on tears and sobbing into your mouth as her hands grabbed at every part of you that she could reach. You kissed her back, hands holding her waist, until she had bit and nipped your lips swollen and stolen all the air from you and you had stolen all the air from her, and you both pulled away at the same time, breathless.

You both stayed silent as you caught your breath, blowing air into each other’s mouth. One of your hands let go of her hip to swipe at her cheeks and stroke across her brow. Wilhemina sniffed, pressed her forehead against yours again, and let go of a long, hot, moist breath.    

And then, because you had agreed to tell her your failing, she agreed to share her secret with you.

She held your face in her hands and tilted it so her mouth was brushing your ear, and you reached for the sheet and pulled it over your heads to hide from the game masters and because it had always been easier for Wilhemina to communicate in complete darkness. When no one could see her and her failure, and she could stop performing for there was no one to intimidate.

She described harmless things first, the color of the dress the woman had been wearing, how the man’s arm had been wrapped around her waist. He’d been wearing glasses and her hair had been tied up.  

Then she said how, when she had looked up at them, they had been laughing, their heads almost touching, and how the woman’s eyes had scanned her face first, and then the man’s. And how the woman had nodded at something the man had whispered in her ear, her lips twitching with amusement.

They had passed her and they had walked on and out of her life. And she had walked on and out, too, but her steps had faltered.

And she shouldn’t have let it, she whispered in your ear, as the air beneath the sheet grew warmer, she really shouldn’t have let it, but the laughter had sunk into her and crawled all the way up and down her, hurting everywhere – except her heart. Her heart had gone numb to protect itself.

She’d carried the weight of the laughter crawling and hurting inside her and she’d carried on her day, completing all the tasks she had had to do, and then she’d driven home, taken off her coat and accepted the cup of tea you had slipped into her hands. The laughter had still been weighing her down when you’d told her about your day and she’d tried but failed to listen, and later when she’d helped you cook dinner, forced her food to stay down, let you neglect the dishes and fled to the bathroom where she’d locked the door behind her.

She had locked the door behind her, she confessed in a small voice. Because she had been craving for solitude, because your fond smiles and worried looks and tender touches had hurt her as much as the laughter had.

And then in bed you had pressed yourself against her with a renewed promise of love and tenderness and her heart had roared back to life, crying out that this was too much, that it couldn’t handle any more. It revolted against love and desired to burn itself out. It shall step through fire and burn down to ashes and it would not allow anyone to save it.

You let her speak. Your throat was too tight to let out words anyway. Until Wilhemina sniffed and said she knew there would be more nights and days like this, and that was why she had given you Lily’s phone number – at that, your voice forced its way out to growl that you would never, it would kill you and even if you could bear it, it would kill her too and that you would never allow.    

Wilhemina lowered her head and sobbed.

After you two had emerged from under the sheet, you got up to get her and you some water, and opened the window to air the room. Outside it was finally night. You looked at the dark, silent street and wondered if tonight could still be saved, after all; if it could still be made into something Wilhemina and you wouldn’t be afraid or ashamed to remember.

But then, as you lingered at the window and Wilhemina called out your name, sleepy and soft, and you turned to see her lying on her side with her arms opened, you realized tonight had already been saved. So you quickly closed the window and crossed the room to her, and breathed a “Thank you” into her hair as her arms closed around you and pulled you close. 

Tag list: @mssallymckenna @supremeinlilac @pluied-ete @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate @angelxsarahp @paulawand @asktammyr @peggycarter-steverogers   @coconutlipss  @saucy-sapphic @thesupremewife @paulsonpills  @vintagepaulson @billiedeansbottom @lilypadscoven @winslctrg @simpforpaulson @venablesgirl @mckennamayfairgoode  @ka-s

[theteddylupinexperience]

Angel pt. 1 | Marcus Pike

AN: the bitch is back, this time with a Marcus Pike x reader fic! Subtly unsubtle Bones crossover here, the reader is part of Booth’s team because this is immensely self indulgent and I wanted to bring together my two favorite crime dramas. Stay tuned for part two, coming as soon as my brain gives me even a lick of inspiration!

Word count: 1290

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, kissing, shy!Marcus, mentions of Teresa deserve their own warning, too many mentions of Marcus’s shoulders

“You keep staring at her like that, your face will get stuck,” Booth laughs. Marcus looks away from you and Angela on the dance floor to glare at the man across the table.

“I have no idea what you’re talking-“ he starts, before glancing back over. You’ve thrown your head back with laughter at something Angela’s said to you, and the sound is like music to Marcus’s ears. He feels the tops of his ears get hot, and his heart beats erratically at the sight of you so care free. So angelic, dancing like a fool to whatever shitty pop remix is playing. Your cheeks are flushed from the heat of the club, and the alcohol coursing through your veins, and at that moment Marcus decides you are more beautiful than any painting he’s ever saved.

Angela leans over to whisper something in your ear, and you look over to the table where Marcus and Booth are sitting. Booth waves sarcastically, and you give him the finger and stick your tongue out playfully. Your gaze reaches a pair of warm brown eyes, and you positively beam at the man behind them. If Marcus thought his heart was beating quickly before, now he was worried about potential cardiac arrest.

He barely has time to collect his breathing before you’re skipping over to him.

“Hey boys,” Angela winks before sliding down next to Booth and grabbing whatever glass of water is left.

“Dance with me?” you ask Marcus, putting your hands on his shoulders and pouting as best you can before your fake sadness gives way to another round of cocktail induced giggles.

“Oh, I, uh, sure, okay,” Marcus stutters, and you bite your lip before taking his hands in yours and dragging him to the dance floor.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” He jokes.

“Me? No way, I never get a day off, I’m enjoying this to its fullest.”

“I gotta admit, the most experience I have is dancing at weddings.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” you smirk at him, taking his hands and setting them on your waist. You place your own on his broad shoulders and take a moment to admire the strength of this gorgeous man.

“You’re pretty,” you giggle.

“That’s the alcohol talking, sweetheart, the pretty one is you,” Marcus says seriously.

You flush, and this time neither the heat nor the alcohol have anything to do with it.

Angela had dragged your entire group to this club tonight after an excessively long work week. The Jeffersonian team and Marcus’s art crimes team had been working together a few months after the discovery of skeletal remains in a high traffic DC museum. Marcus was fresh to the city, nursing a broken heart and a chip on his shoulder. When you’d walked into the arts department of the FBI building, trailing along in the shadow of the lead agent, Booth, Marcus felt his heart skip a beat. He’d immediately shut down those feelings, unwilling to go through the same bullshit he had with Teresa. “Don’t shit where you eat, Pike,” he’d muttered to himself.

But you, you were different. Gorgeous and quick witted, always able to snap back at whatever jokes Booth made at your expense. Caring in the most simple ways, doing things without asking that Marcus realizes Teresa wouldn’t have even thought about. He’s barely given you the time of day, maintaining an absolutely professional relationship with you, yet you’ve already memorized how he takes his coffee, and you bring it to his office along with something to eat when you know he’s skipped lunch again. You allow him to open up to you strictly on his terms, never asking any prying questions or offering unsolicited advice.

“I get it, you know,” you had said once, after he was recounting the way Teresa had broken off their engagement over the phone. “I was with someone last year, someone I thought was it for me, and then out of nowhere he got back with his ex. And I still have to see them every day at work.” Marcus remembers how he had taken your hand in his wordlessly, and you’d stayed like that for awhile.

He’s suddenly aware of a hand waving in front of his face, and he’s brought back to the present.

“You disappearing on me, agent Pike?” you ask teasingly.

“Never,” Marcus smiles. Your confidence buckles under his gaze, and you look away shyly. He had to know how you felt about him, hell, everyone knew how you felt about him. You’re just surprised Angela hasn’t said something yet, ever the wing woman.

With his eyes never leaving you, you begin to wonder if he feels the same. Marcus had been a tough cookie to crack, a project you had taken on willingly and without being asked. You knew a broken soul when you saw one, one that mirrored your own. You hadn’t intended for anything to come from it past a potential friendship, but the more time you spent with the handsome FBI agent in front of you, the more you couldn’t help but feel like everything in your life had led up to this moment right here. You’re in Marcus’s arms, and he feels like home.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Marcus says, quirking his brow at your focused expression.

“I don’t understand how you’re single,” you say earnestly, and you watch a faint blush creep up his neck.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, fuck, like, have you seen you? You’re... perfect, Marcus.” You feel him stiffen in your arms at the sentiment, and you can’t help but run your thumb along his jaw soothingly.

“I mean it, I do,” you start, “it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, honey, but you deserve to know. And it’s not the alcohol talking.”

He smiles gently at your joke and turns his head to kiss your thumb. He tightens his arms around your waist to bring you closer.

“You’re an angel, you know,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against yours. You lean up on your toes to brush your lips against his, softly, tentatively, giving him any and every opportunity to pull away if he needs. Instead, one of his hands slides up your body to tangle in your hair, and he pulls you impossibly closer to kiss you thoroughly. Everything about the way he kisses you is so entirely Marcus, his lips are softer than you could have ever dreamed, and when he glides his tongue against your bottom lip, it’s dizzying. His grip on you tightens as your knees buckle, and you keep yourself upright with your hands on his gorgeous shoulders.

When you finally break apart to breathe, Marcus doesn’t go far. He nuzzles his face into your neck, and nips delicately at the skin there.

“Is this real?” he asks, adorably shy as he stays hidden.

“It’s always been real with you, Marcus,” you feel him tense briefly, and then fully relax against you.

He kisses your cheek so sweetly you think you could cry, and then captures your lips with his again. You can’t help but chase him when he pulls away, and he smiles against you.

“You wanna get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Marcus takes your hand and leads you towards the door, and you wave goodbye to a grinning and giggling Angela and Booth before following him out.

“Do you wanna take a cab to mine?” Marcus asks, searching your face for any indication you might not be comfortable with his idea. A grin breaks across his face as you nod enthusiastically.

He kisses you once, twice, a third time, his lips lingering on yours after the last one.

“Let’s go, angel.”

[wwilloww]

⛸ Hi, hello. Welcome to my shower thoughts. What if. It starts out in this dystopian society where there are arranged marriages and everything is regulated by like one person or a council or something. Originally, the OC or Y/N is engaged to [x bts member] and, they’re just about to get married the day that the dystopia crumbles! Now, OC / Y/N is actually in love with [x bts member]- but, [x bts member] isn’t (or doesn’t think they are- you decide) in love with OC or Y/N. ANGST. BUT WAIT! ⛸

anonymous said: 

⛸ THERS MORE. So~ [x bts member] after like three months of reader/OC being heartbroken, lead on, and helpless, starts pursuing someone else! Someone new that [x bts member] just met. And so, they start falling in love. Helplessly, hopelessly in love. Love interest of [x bts member] leads them on but ultimately some tragedy happens where they end up breaking [x bts member’s] heart and OC/reader is left to console them and try to comfort them through all that ANGSTTT ⛸

⛸ AND THENNNNN. (Sorry this is taking so many parts- this has just evolved so much in my head 😂) AND THEN! It’s all angsty and sad because OC/reader ends up admitting that they had real feelings for [x bts member] they had to go through the same things alone and had to put on a happy face because they just wanted to be happy [x bts member] is happy 🥺 But yeah!! This has just been expanding in my head and I know I’m never gonna end up writing it so I figured I would just tell you about it😂⛸

⛸but obviouslyyyyy I do not expect you to write this, and you are in no way obligated by it but! If you are inspired by it in any way, you could totally use it and I would totally read it 😂⛸ But yeah, I guess I just figured I’d play 😂 Have a great day/night/whatever time it is where you are!!! Adios!! ☺️💜⛸

NOONNIIEEEEEEE 

hello?!!!!! your brain is a literal GENIUS!!! This is legitimately a fully structured fic that you just dropped into my inbox. Why wouldn’t you write it??? You have such a beautifully strong grasp of this idea and I know you would do an incredible, incredible job of it too. If you do end up writing it, tag me! Please!! 

SO. Back in high school I had a seriously strong dystopian phase. Your idea reminded me a little bit of a story I tried to write (what is it about dystopian stories and love triangles? huh?) I tried to find it to post a snippet of young Willow’s writing, but I couldn’t find it anywhere, so I tried to write something for you. We’re going to say this is a JK fic because he’s the first to come to mind. 

Well. I started writing and it didn’t stop. So now this is officially a drabble. Here we go 😂

UNARRANGED

PAIRING jungkook x reader

GENRE dystopian!au. angst.

WC 734

WARNINGS heartbreak. pining.

AN someone pls tell me to stop writing

Should the city still be burning? Months after your home burnt down there were still fires. They would burst up on a particularly cold night. From the vantage point of the roof, you could see them, burning bright and red until the early hours of the morning, black smoke leeching up into the pristine silver glimmer of the stars. By morning they would usually burn their course, leaving nothing but the wisps of heat lingering in the air. 

Tonight, that’s where you find him. Back hunched, chin resting on his knee. A mile out, a fire rages the size of a city block and his eyes are locked on it. You’re not sure if he’s ignoring you or if he can’t hear you - but nonetheless you walk carefully over the tiles towards where Jungkook sits. 

You sit without word. Breathe deep. Let the silence drape over you until it seems - for him at least - unbearable.

“Is it still supposed to hurt?” he finally says after a couple of minutes. 

“Yeah,” you mumble, jaw clenching. “It always hurts for a while. I guess...” You pause, chewing over your words. “When we love someone we let them lodge inside our hearts. When they walk away from us, I think they take something with them.” 

“Yeah, thats...that’s how it feels.” He sniffs, and you’re not sure if it’s from the cold or if he’s crying. When you peek over at him, his face is dry. Empty. He glances at you and a stiff smile brushes across his lips. “I didn’t think it would be physically painful too. It’s just supposed to be emotions and shit, right? Not like - not like an ache. Like pain. It’s physically painful.” 

“Why shouldn’t it be painful?” You say softly. “Wouldn’t it be worse to have loved and not feel the loss at all?”

He’s silent at that. 

“It sounds like you know what it feels like.” 

“Yeah.” You say softly, chewing on your lip. “I guess I do.” 

He looks at you, studying your face. 

“I never noticed - I didn’t realize you had someone -” 

“There’s a lot you don’t notice, Jungkook.” You can’t help the ice that slips into your voice. He blinks back at you. Reaches for your hand. You don’t want to, but still at his touch, at the sensation of his thumb running over the back of your hand, you melt. It’s so warm. Even after a year, your body still wants to lean into him. “I suppose I didn’t really... have them. Not really.” 

“I’m sorry.” He brings your hand up to his chest where he wraps both arms around it, forcing you to scoot closer. “I suppose that’s better though.” He laughs. “Selfishly, it’s better. That we both know this. That we both can go through it together.”

He’s so dumb, you can’t help but think. Your gaze traces over his features. Even after everything that you both had been through - the burning of the city, broken hearts, destroyed families, decimated lives - his features still sang with the kind of youth that had nothing to do with age.

“The pain - it feels sharp in my chest. In my throat.” 

“Yeah,” you say. “Me too.”

“And I still dream about her sometimes, like she’s still here right beside me. Like she never left.”

“Yeah.” And then softer. “Me too.”

“And there’s a part of me that feels like everything will be fixed if she just came back, if she just gave it another shot. If she just tried.” Your heart clenches and he shakes his head. “But then... then I know that’s not fair. It’s not true. You can’t just ask someone to love you. That’s not how it works.”

“Exactly.” It’s almost a whisper. 

“You know.” It’s said softly. As if he’s also saying thank you.

“I know.”

“Who was it?” he asks. 

You look at him. Eyes wide, heart cracked open just for you. Later on, you won’t be sure if it was something in the air - the smoke, the crisp burn of winter frost - or if it was an impulse, or if it was something about everything you had endured in the past year that made you say it. The building of courage, of callus, of that long, stretching emptiness that never quite seemed to leave the front of your mind. 

“You, Jungkook.” You say, pulling your hand from his. “It was you.” 

[alwaysbethewest]

Narcos fic: Don’t Hold Your Tongue

Title: Don’t Hold Your Tongue Pairing: Javier Peña/Steve Murphy Rating: Mature Word count: 2k Content/warnings: I bullied politely asked @pajamasecrets​ to give me some fic prompts and she suggested Steve and Javi get drunk and play truth or dare. So. That’s what this is. No plot, no angst, no spoilers, no beta. Just drinking and kissing and implications of more than that after it fades to black. Also posted at AO3.

  Javi’s never noticed before that there’s a diamond-shaped pattern on the ceiling of the ambassador’s office. Maybe because he’s never before been lying on the floor of her office staring up at it. God willing, he never will be again.

This whole thing was Steve’s idea. Javi was just dumb enough to go along with it.

Javier is senior in both age and rank but sometimes he forgets that that means he’s supposed to reign Steve in when he gets like this. Sometimes their interests align and they both want to cut loose at the same time and in the same way, and sometimes, like tonight, that means sneaking into the ambassador’s office after everyone else has gone home and drinking the obscenely expensive bottle of scotch Steve had spotted on her sideboard during a meeting earlier in the day.

It’s bordering on disrespectful to the label how quickly they’re downing the scotch. It’s one that should be savored, peaty and complex and fucking expensive. But this whole thing is a little bit not about the liquor at all and a lot about the principle of the thing and their private resentment over the ambassador continuing to block every request they’ve tried to make for what feels like the last six months.

And anyway, respect is clearly not of any concern to Steve, sitting as he is in the ambassador’s chair with his feet propped up on her desk. He’s at an odd angle, from Javi’s position on the floor, but he can still see Steve’s bright eyes and lazy-drunk mouth, how his cheeks suck in briefly as he takes a sip of whiskey and rolls it over his tongue to the back of his mouth. He watches his eyes flutter shut and Javi’s reflexes must be impaired because it takes him a second to realize when Steve’s eyes open again and are boring directly into him.

“Hey, Javi,” he drawls. “Truth or dare?”

Javi shakes his head. He’s not doing that.

“I’ll go first,” Steve offers. He takes another sip of his drink and lets out a satisfied sigh. “I pick truth. Ask me a question.”

Javi shakes his head again, giving him his best unimpressed look, and Steve swings his feet off the desk and stretches one leg out to nudge his foot against Javi’s shoulder. “C’mon.”

He’s really not doing this so he thinks of the most innocuous question he can, one so pointless it might insult Steve into giving up.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Steve makes a face but he stops and thinks about it. “Blue. But like, dark blue. Like a medium-dark blue.” He pokes his foot into Javi’s arm again. “Like that shirt you have. That blue shirt is my favorite color.”

There’s a pause. Javi doesn’t have anything to say to that. He’s trying to remember which shirt Steve means and which exact shade of medium-dark blue it is.

“Your turn,” Steve says. “Truth or dare?”

“I’m not playing,” he reminds him.

Steve frowns down at him. “You can’t do that. You already asked me a question, you don’t get to bow out now.”

“I asked you a harmless one,” he says.

“Who says mine won’t be harmless?” Steve protests. “I’m gonna kick you in the head if you don’t play. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says finally, resigned.

“How many women who work in this building have you slept with?”

“Hijo de puta,” he mutters, and Steve laughs, delighted to have gotten a rise out of him. Javi pushes onto his elbows to take a drink of his scotch and thinks about how to answer. He wants to ask Steve how he’s defining slept with but he doesn’t feel like getting into the discussion that would invite. He decides not to count purely hand stuff and rounds down a little and tells him, “Three.”

“Hmm,” Steve says skeptically. “I thought it’d be more.”

Javi shrugs. “Maybe I’m more of a gentleman than you think I am.”

“Right,” Steve snorts. He rubs a knuckle over his eye and takes a breath, about to say something else.

“Truth or dare?” Javi asks, before Steve can interrogate him any further.

“Dare.”

He tries to think of a good one. Thinks back to when he was a kid, since this is an actual children’s game.

“I dare you to streak around the fifth floor.”

“That’s dumb,” Steve protests, but he’s shifting in his seat like he’s unsure. “There’s nobody here.”

“Could be,” Javi shrugs. “If you’re scared, you don’t have to do it—”

“I’m not scared,” Steve says. He pushes out of the chair and starts unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m just saying, it’s a waste of a dare ‘cause nobody’s going to see it.”

“I don’t care. You wanted a dare, you got a dare.”

Steve lets out a put-upon sigh but he’s naked by the time he reaches the door, clothes strewn across the floor in a messy trail. He’s a long, tall stretch of pale skin and Javi takes him in just for a second before looking back down into his glass. Steve sticks his head out of the door, peering down the hallway, and then he takes off in a jog and Javi chuckles and empties his glass and lies back, eyes closed, to wait.

The quiet solitude of the room makes him feel a little too drunk and a little maudlin and his thoughts turn briefly to serious questions like what are they even doing down here and is it making any difference and also, now that he thinks about it, are he and Steve going to be able to find a cab home this late since they’re both way past too shitfaced to drive. He opens his eyes again and stares up at the diamond-patterned ceiling and pictures the dismayed expression on the ambassador’s face if she were to find them passed out on her floor come morning. Almost, but not quite, funny enough to be worth it.

It’s not long before Steve returns, flush-cheeked and scrambling to get his pants back on. He stumbles a little and is laughing breathlessly and it makes Javi laugh, too, seeing how his face is glowing with the rush of this low-stakes moment of exhibitionism. Steve attempts the buttons on his shirt but his fingers are fumbling and he quickly gives up and leaves it open, fabric fanning out over his hips when he sinks down on the floor by Javi and props his back against the side of the desk. He tucks one bare foot under Javi’s thigh and chuckles again.

“Shit,” he breathes. “You know if I’d gotten caught and got fired for that you’d be stuck down here all by yourself.”

“That was my plan all along,” Javi tells him.

Steve wiggles his toes under his leg. “No it wasn’t.”

The room goes quiet again. Javi’s hand bumps against Steve’s ankle and he idly circles his fingers around it, under the hem of his pants.

“Your turn,” Steve says. “Truth or dare?”

“We’re still doing this?”

“You owe me, man, you just made me run buck naked through the office. It’s your turn.”

“I’m not running anywhere,” Javi warns him. “Truth.”

Steve is thoughtful for a few breaths, glancing around the room while he considers, before landing his eyes on Javi again. “Have you ever kissed a guy?”

“What?” Javi says, which is a mistake, because not saying no is almost as good as saying yes and now Steve’s eyes are burning into him.

“Yes or no, it’s a simple question,” he says.

Javi wishes he still had whiskey in his glass to swallow the rough feeling out of his throat. He realizes his fingers have gone tight around Steve’s ankle and he lets go and drops his hand to the carpeted floor.

“Yes.”

“I haven’t,” Steve offers. Not exactly a surprise.

“Okay,” Javi says. His brain is too fuzzy and Steve’s expression too calm for him to feel panicked, but he does feel—confused, maybe. Unsure what to say.

“Do you dare me to?”

“What?”

“It’s my turn,” Steve reminds him. “And I want a dare. Do you dare me to?”

“Sure,” Javi says, before he can think too much about it, and it still comes as a surprise when Steve shifts onto his knees and then straddles Javi’s hips and leans down to hover over his face. His expression is determined, overly serious, and it makes Javi laugh, struck by how ridiculous this all is. Steve’s brow furrows but the corner of his mouth lifts up, simultaneously amused and taken aback by Javier’s reaction.

“What are you laughing for?” he asks. Maybe trying to decide if he should be offended.

Javi huffs out another laughing breath. “Just, your face. You looked so serious.”

His face softens and Javi watches as his eyes flick down to Javi’s mouth, back up to meet his gaze again. “I am serious,” he murmurs, and leans in closer. “I want it to be good.”

He kisses him and it is good, it’s nice. His mouth is careful and softer than Javi would have expected, and Javi kisses him back, feeling the strain in the back of his neck from pressing up to meet him. He slips a hand around the back of Steve’s head to pull him closer as he relaxes against the carpet and Steve makes a pleased, surprised sound against his mouth and slides his tongue over Javi’s lips. It’s languid, a slow, easy kiss that moves like it’s got no destination in mind, just the journey of Steve’s tongue slipping into his mouth, stroking against him and drawing back again to allow his teeth to graze lightly over Javi’s bottom lip.

Steve’s body is still miles away from his, hovering over him, and it doesn’t feel right. Javi slides his hand down Steve’s back, grips onto his hip, and tugs him down to press his body into his, a comfortable, heavy weight landing over him.

“Shit,” Steve murmurs. He grinds his hips slowly over Javi’s, letting him feel where he’s starting to go hard just from the kiss. Javi’s pulse speeds up and he’s grateful for the deep breath he’s able to take when Steve drags his mouth away from his and presses his lips along his jawline instead. “Hey Javi,” Steve whispers. “Truth or dare?”

He thinks about it, briefly, and decides he still doesn’t want to risk being dared to do anything that would move him away from this spot. “Truth.”

Steve pulls back a few inches to watch his face carefully, looking thoughtful. His mouth is shiny and plush and Javi wants to kiss him again.

“Truth,” Steve says, considering. “Have you ever gotten off in an ambassador’s office?”

Javi laughs. “I came close once.”

“Yeah? What happened?”

He slides his hands under the loose ends of Steve’s shirt and presses his fingers into the hot skin at the base of his spine. “I don’t know yet.”

A smile spreads across Steve’s face and he leans down and bites at Javi’s lip again. He works his hand into the space between their bodies and rests it on Javi’s belly.

He murmurs Javi’s name in a soft, drawn-out drawl, and wriggles his fingers behind Javi’s belt. “Do you dare me?”

Javi tastes the stolen scotch on his breath and feels the rough carpet against his back and the slide of Steve’s long fingers inching into his pants, the hard length of him pressing against Javi’s hip. He catches sight of the diamond-shaped ceiling tiles out of the corner of his eye and thinks, this might be one of the top five dumbest things he’s ever done, but it might also be one of the best because sometimes life overlaps like that. And he slides a hand up the broad length of Steve’s back to his neck, pulls him in close again, and tells him, “Yes.”

[inorganicone2230]

All That Led Us Here (Part 1) Yandere!Overhaul x Fem!Reader

Part 2

Summary: Orphaned at the tender age of six, you are taken in and raised by The Head of The Shie Hassaikai along with his young son, Kai, who takes a strange and immediate interest in you, to an obsessive degree... one that only seems to grow as the years go by. A life with him and The Yakuza is all you've ever known, but is it all you really want? Kai would certainly have you believe so, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you never question it.

Warnings: None for this chapter, in fact, the first few will be relatively tame as we build up to the darker chapters later on, but I will make note of them as they pop up per chapter.

Side Note’s: Just a few quick things to help give you an idea as to how this AU’s world is set up. So first off, there are no quirks in this world, so that means that the Yakuza clans are still strong, wealthy and a huge influence in the Japanese underworld, unlike in the cannon version, and the Shie Hassaikai are one of the biggest if not THE biggest. Second, Kai is The Big Bosses biological son and not just some street rat that he took in. Since we never actually learn the old guys name, I figure that it can easily be played around with to suit the needs of this story and Kai’s looks can be explained by saying that he takes after his deceased mom. And finally, Eri will NOT be making an appearance in this story as of yet.

And as always, I want to give a BIG thank you to my amazing friend @talpup for all the brainstorming and encouragement on these stories! I’m sure I would have given up on this blog a while ago if it wasn't for all of their help. I highly encourage anyone who takes the time to read this to go over to their page or their AO3 account under the same name and check out their works, especially Chaos and Erase The Shadow. They are two of my favorite BNHA fics of ALL TIME!

Kai could still remember the first day he met you, no matter how much time passed or how many years flew by, that day was always going to be crystal clear in his mind.

It was the middle of a sweltering hot summer and his father, the head of the notorious Yakuza clan, The Shie Hassaikai, had received a call from an old friend asking him to come visit him on his deathbed in a nearby town. His father had immediately left, but returned just a few days later.

Only, he wasn’t alone when he came back…

It was already early evening when Kai, who was ten at that point, heard the commotion coming from downstairs and had gone outside with all the others to greet his father when he arrived home and was just as shocked, though he hid it very well, as everyone else to see that he had a little girl no older than six with him.

A tiny little thing wearing a purple sundress and hiding behind his father’s legs while she trembled like a leaf. She was so small that, if it weren’t for the quiet little whimpers coming from her, she may have gone completely unnoticed and Kai couldn’t help but idly wonder who she was and what she was doing with his father.

“Kai?” His father had called out to him once he was spotted by the gate. “Come over here Son, there’s someone you need to meet.”

Kai, being the well behaved and dutiful son that he was, immediately went to his father. He couldn’t deny that he was curious as to who the little girl was and even a stoic child like him was still prone to childlike tendencies every now and then.

“What is it Pops?” He asked, his voice already showing signs of deepening despite his young age. And since he had recently hit a growth spurt, he was easily a good foot or so taller than the little girl currently clinging to his father’s hakama.

His father stepped aside to reveal the child to him in full as he gazed down at her with a look of of care and pity. “Kai, this is (Y/N), she’s the daughter of a dear old friend of mine who recently passed away and she’s going to be living with us from now on.” His father reached down to pat you on the head and Kai knew from experience just how comforting that hand could be in a stressful situation, though he’d likely choke on those words if he ever tried to admit them out loud. “She’s family now, so I want you to look out for her. Ya hear me boy?”

Kai had nodded in agreement without a moment's hesitation, he was always eager to please his father no matter what the task was, though, to be honest, Kai had no real experience dealing with kids his own age, let alone one so much younger than himself. He tended to avoid the idiots at his school, they were always running around, getting filthy and he wanted no part in that, and it’s not like there were any other kids that lived in the compound for him to interact with. Hell, there hadn’t even been a woman living there since his mother died nearly eight years prior.

Kai snapped himself out of his own thoughts when he heard his father speak again, seems he wasn’t done talking just yet.

Kai watched as his father gave you another pat on the head as this time, he addressed you directly, his voice much softer and kinder than Kai could ever remember it being. Perhaps it was because you were a girl, or maybe it was because he felt sorry for the situation you were in, your father had just died after all. Either way, this was a side to his old man that he only ever saw when he talked about his late wife, so this was a rather surreal experience for the young boy.

“(Y/N), this brat here is my son, Kai.” He said, motioning his head towards the golden eyed boy. “If you need anything at all and you can’t find me, I want you to go straight to him, alright? This is going to be your home from now on and that means that you can just think of him as your big brother if that makes it easier.”

You had been looking at the ground for the majority of the time, but when you briefly glanced up to meet his gaze, Kai couldn’t help but feel drawn to the big (e/c) eyes that seemed to take up the majority of your chubby little face. They were wide and full of fear, but also a great deal of curiosity as you took in your new surroundings.

You gave him a small, barely there nod of your head as you mumble out a quick response, your voice just as tiny as you were in stature. “N-Nice to m-meet you Kai-san. I’ll try n-not to be a b-bother for you.” And then your eyes are back on the ground and Kai is left with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach as he uncharacteristically thinks that he wants you to look at him again, and for longer this time.

The old boss tries to muster up a weak smile in the hopes that it will put you at ease. “I’m sure the two of you will get along just fine once you get used to each other. Now, why don’t we go have some dinner and then get you off to bed? It’s been a long few days and I’m sure you’ll feel a bit better in the morning.”

With affirmative nods from both children, nothing more is said as everyone is urged to get back to their usual duties despite talk over who the unexpected new addition to the household is and where she came from.

—————

Later on that night, after a quiet dinner was shared amongst the three, Kai went off back to his room and quietly continued to work on his summer homework. Pops was insistent that he keep up his grades, inciting that just because he was set to inherit the role as head of a mob family, that didn’t mean that he was allowed to be an ignorant fool with no brains to back himself up, and Kai was inclined to agree, there was only one thing he hated more than filth and that was stupidity and a general lack of common sense.

Tonight however, this usually easy task was proving to be just a tad bit harder to stay focused on.

The main reason?

He can hear your soft cries from down the hall in your new room and it’s proving to be rather distracting. Not that you were being overly loud, but thin walls and shoji screen doors don’t provide much in the way of soundproofing or insulation. And with the two of you bring the only ones living on this floor, his old man's room being situated one floor above and everyone else further down, it was even more quiet than a normal house.

Without really stopping to think about what he was doing, Kai got up from his desk and left his room to wander down the hall until he found himself quietly standing outside your door. He debated with himself for about thirty seconds before he made the abrupt decision to just open the door uninvited.

There you were, curled up on an unfamiliar bed that was definitely way too big for someone so tiny, your shoulders shaking even as your head shot up at the sudden sound of sliding wood and big fat crocodile tears continued to roll silently down your cheeks.

“U-Um… w-what are-”

“You’ve been crying.” Kai interrupted you.

You looked down, he really wished you’d stop doing that, almost as if you were ashamed to have it pointed out so bluntly.

“I’m so-sorry, I w-won’t do it a-again, I pro-promise.” You managed to get out between more sniffles.

Kai normally hated the sound of crying, it was like nails on a chalkboard to him and he attributed it to weakness, yet another thing that he so deeply detested. But, he supposed that given the events you had likely been subjected to over the course of the last few days, your blatant display of emotion was understandable, if not outright expected of you.

And besides, he thought, he knew what it was like to lose a parent, but he still had his old man at least, that was more than could be said for you, you didn’t have anyone.

No one but him and Pops…

Kai wouldn’t be able to properly articulate to himself what it really was, not until he was older and understood himself a bit better, but he felt an odd sensation swell up in his chest at the thought of you relying on him, of you needing him, he liked the idea of you staring up at him with those big watery eyes and asking him for help, begging him to make the hurt go away.

But more than that, he wanted to be the reason you smiled. He had yet to see a smile grace your face, but he knew that he wanted to be it’s cause when it did finally happen, or at the very least, he wanted to be the first one to see it.

It was a strange feeling, and not one he was at all used to, but Kai was a pragmatic child and rarely ever second guessed himself once his mind had settled on an idea. His father often told him that if he continued to cultivate that trait, it would make him an even better boss than him someday.

And to that end, he did what his father would expect of him…

“Do you… want me to stay with you, until you fall asleep?”

The two of you stared at each other for roughly a minute before you mutely nodded your head and Kai silently made his way over to your bed, easily climbing onto the tall mattress and sitting upright against the headboard while you laid your head back down on the pillow.

Kai never took his eyes off your face.

“Thank you Kai.” You mumbled sleepily, your swollen, puffy eyes already drooping as sleep threatened to finally claim you.

He wasn’t really great at comforting others, not that he had ever tried, so he acted on pure instinct, reaching out and taking your tiny hand in his own and closing his fist around it, an act that both shocked and astounded him, though he never let go of your hand regardless of that.

It had been so long since he had touched anyone else that he’d almost forgotten what another person’s skin could feel like and despite his steadily growing aversion to physical contact, he didn’t feel even the slightest bit of disgust when he felt your skin against his own. In fact, it was no different than if he was reaching up to touch the flesh of his own face.

Kai knew that this had to mean something, he just didn’t know what that something was just yet.

But he could figure it out, he thought, gazing down at your peaceful face as he brushed some of your hair behind your ear. This was your home now, and he had all the time in the world to learn what it was about you that seemed to set you apart from the rest of the filthy world.

—————

About an hour later, Kai was just beginning to feel his own eyes drop as sleep fought to overtake his senses when he heard a shuffling sound by the still open door and, looking up, he wasn’t all that surprised to find his father standing there in the doorway.

The Boss couldn’t sleep and so he decided to wander down and check on his new charge, he was already beating himself up for leaving you alone in a dark, unfamiliar room. He half expected to find you still awake and crying, however, what he found instead was something far more surprising than anything he could have imagined on his own.

You weren’t crying, in fact, you were sound asleep. Sound asleep and holding his sons hand, his son who hated all unnecessary physical contact. To say he was surprised was an understatement, he never would have expected to find a scene like this, not in a million years.

Kai meanwhile, couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit annoyed that his time alone with you was being interrupted. How was he supposed to think and ponder these new developments if he was being distracted by his father’s eyes boring holes into him.

But, he supposed this could have it’s own benefits, now that they were alone, he could ask his father some questions that have been plaguing his mind since he first arrived home.

“Why is she here Pops?” He asked quietly, never taking his eyes off your sleeping face.

The Boss was not the kind of man that believed in treating his son with kid gloves, he told him how things were in a very direct manner and rarely ever beat around the bush when talking to him. He was going to be taking over one of the most powerful Yakuza clans in the country and he couldn’t afford to have his only son and heir be a spineless weakling. Some might call him cruel for laying so much on a young child’s shoulders, but he knew just how fast he could be swallowed whole if he didn’t possess the necessary moral fiber to stand on his own two feet in this dangerous world he was set to rule in. It might not seem like it, but he loved his son and wanted to see him succeed and push the clan further then even he had.

“Her father was an old friend of mine from back in the day.” He began and leaned one of his large, broad shoulders against the door-frame. “He wasn’t a criminal, in fact, he was a pretty average guy. But he helped me out of more tight spots in our youth then I care to remember and despite knowing about my Yakuza heritage, he never dwelled on it or judged me for it.”

Kai watched as a look of sorrow passed across his father’s face, something that only ever happened when he thought about his mother and he realized it must have meant that he really cared about this dead man, whoever he was.

“We lost touch over the years, but when I got that call from him, asking me to come see him on his deathbed, I knew I owed it to him to go and send him off.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “When I got there, I found out what it was he wanted from me. His last wish was that his only child, his daughter, be raised by someone he knew and trusted. Neither he, nor his deceased wife had any known living family that could take her in. So it was either I take custody of the girl, or she gets put in the system. Clearly you can see what my decision was.”

Kai suspected that there was more to the story than that, but he got what he wanted so he didn’t press for anymore then that.

“So, you want to tell me what you’re doing here in the middle of the night?” His father questioned him.

Kai still had yet to look away from you and to be honest, he really didn’t want to. “She was crying.”

“So you came in here to check on her?”

“Something like that.” Kai murmured, his usual monotone still firmly in place. “She’s different than the others, she’s clean and I don’t feel sick being near her. I can even touch her.”

It was nearly pitch black in the room but there was just enough light streaming in from the hallway that allowed him to see his sons face, and what he saw there nearly had him busting out laughing, but he refrained for fear of ruining whatever it was that was happening to the boy.

Kai was blushing.

It was small and faint, but the tops of his cheeks were definitely looking a bit darker than usual.

And this seemingly innocuous turn of events sparked an idea in his mind, one that he would need to put some serious thought into, he couldn’t just rush something like this without analyzing it from all angles, but it was an option that could ultimately lead to his child’s, no, his children’s future happiness.

“So I take it you’re not going to be having a problem with her being here?”

Kai looked down at you, at the steady rise and fall of your chest and the way you curled in on yourself. He took in the way you nuzzled your face just a bit closer to him and he found comfort in your soft little breaths that he could feel against him arm.

So, did he have a problem with you?

“I’ll take care of her.”

I hope you all enjoyed this! Please let me know what you thought if you have the time!

[greywindys]

I had a fic I was working on for 2Doc week, but it betrayed me and turned angsty when I wanted something softer. So instead, I thought I could share a fic I never published, and I believe the first fic I ever wrote (dated in Google as complete on June 17th, 2016. Holy moly!)

It fits into day 3′s prompt of firsts - the first night the spent together on good terms. The beginning of the bond, I guess. It could also be considered the first head massage (lmao), as I like to think 2D is good with his hands in various scenarios 😉. (I adapted the head massage into scenes in later fics, but this was the first time I worked with it as a concept.)

If there are any “M” or “D” I apologize! When I was starting out, I was too self-conscious to write their entire names (lmao @ me). Oh, how things have changed. Hopefully, I corrected them all, along with most of the typos...

The rating here is T. Essentially, Murdoc encounters 2D late at night when he can’t sleep, and ends up watching a movie with him. They begin to form a tentative bond, head massages are had as much needed sleep. Takes place during P1.

Also happy bday again, Murdoc 😭

For Murdoc, sleeping is a daunting game of chance. First, there are the good nights, when he drinks enough to remain in a complete stupor until daylight. Then, there are the bad nights when his body’s need for genuine slumber catches up with him. On these nights, he dreams. More often than not, they come to him in the form of nightmares ranging from painfully specific to vague and unsettling. Like a flood, all of the emotions and thoughts he had intended to leave behind in Stoke return.

Tonight is one of those nights.  

This one, in particular, is the reason he’s left the grimy safety of his Winne, head still aching. He intends to rummage through the studio mini-fridge for the half-consumed bottle of rum he started that morning. (after all, his anxiety wasn’t going to fix itself). Instead, he's thrilled to discover the fridge has been restocked, and he's about to grab an unopened bottle of rum when he's interrupted by a crash coming from the direction of the lobby.

The noise is coming towards the kitchen now in slow, shuffling steps. Murdoc presumes it could either be one of the wayward demons he summoned the other day, or it could be another one of the building's many intruders looking for a blank wall to vandalize. Nothing he wants to deal with now in his anxious state. Murdoc considers making a run for his Winnebago but decides against it. ‘You’re Murdoc Niccals” he thinks to himself, ‘Bass god and creative genius. You're not ten anymore and you don't get scared.' With that, he braces himself and he turns to face the unknown figure that was now in the doorway.

“Oh...Hi, Murdoc.”

It’s 2D.

“I've got half a mind to lob you through another car window,” he says trying to mask his surprise. “What the hell are you doing walking around with the lights off in the middle of the night?” That must have been the source of the noise. Typical. It’s as if 2D is intentionally searching for a way to get injured.

2D scratches his head. “No need to get so steamed up about it. I, uh, well, I guess I was trying to keep to the ambiance and all that. I didn’t think anyone else would be awake right now.”

“I don’t know what’s so unexpected. I get more done in a night that you would in a year,” Murdoc replies. He takes a sip of one of the bottles of rum he’s assembled on the counter. “So long as there are still songs to write, the siestas can wait.”

“Not sleeping well then?” 2D asks blithely. Murdoc can’t tell if the singer has seen right through him or failed to comprehend a word of what he just said. He finds him very unreadable at times, and in the most infuriating way.

“No. I was working. Being productive. You ought to try it once in a while,” Murdoc grumbles in response. “Anyways. What’s all this about the ‘ambiance’?” As if 2D is that deep. “And why here?”

“That new zombie movie, you know the one I was telling you about? Well, it arrived today,” 2D says with a grin. “And now I’m watching it. It’s a lot scarier when you do it the dark.”

“Well you have a TV, no, THREE TVs in your room,” Murdoc retorts, exasperated. “Just go away and watch it there.”

“Yeah, uh, l thought about that, but the special effects in this one are supposed to be wicked good and the screen in the lobby has a clearer picture than the screens in my room. I would have watched it this afternoon, but Russel said Noodle shouldn’t be watching all the blood and guts, so I waited until now. It’s better watching scary movies late at night anyway, you know?” 2D is looking at Murdoc now, a tinge of hopefulness in his voice. “A couple blokes on this forum I was reading were describing it like a Romero meets Raimi type film, really over the top.”

“Sounds like a real Oscar winner you have there,” the sarcasm in Murdoc’s voice is palpable.

“Actually, it was a straight to video release, but you should check it out,” 2D says. “I’m only about ten minutes in now...if you have...time,” he trails off awkwardly.

The band had faced many inexplicable and absurd situations, but it is 2D’s consistent attempts to be friends that confounded Murdoc the most. His first inclination to tell the singer to fuck off. Yet the thought of the solitary journey back through the car park gives him pause. He isn't sure he can handle being alone right now. He needs an immediate distraction, a mood lifter, and making fun of 2D has the potential to be a two in one solution. At the very least, it was a safer gamble than going back and running the risk of falling asleep again.

Murdoc makes 2D wait for an answer in uncomfortable silence before replying. “Fine,” he says, “This better be entertaining.”

2D brightens at his response. “Just let me grab some snacks and then we can go back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, and this time turn on the damn lights.”

With some newly acquired light and a bag of crackers in hand, 2D leads Murdoc to the lobby. A collection of pillows and blankets litter the floor. All the while, and to Murdoc’s annoyance, he takes the time to tell him every detail of the conception of his setup. He had been in the lobby for the past four hours watching movies. According to 2D, doing so in such an open area was much scarier than in his room or even in the building’s cinema. He was also sorry because they would have to turn the lights off again when the film starts. “Because well, you know, Muds. The ambiance.”

“Just start the bloody movie will you,” Murdoc replies from his spot on the floor. The size of Kong is intimidating at night, and it’s not helping him calm down. He hates how much his dreams still affect him. Physically, he had left all the bad energy behind ages ago, but mentally it follows him like a low-hanging mist, threatening to completely engulf him daily. He couldn't seem to make it go away, but he could control how much he thought about it. Alcohol was typically his mainstay but right now, that job belonged to an unwitting 2D. If he didn’t start the movie soon, Murdoc was going to set his entire movie collection on fire.

“It’s the little triangle that does the trick, right?” 2D asks as he studies the remote. “Never mind. I think I have it. There we go.”

The scene starts with a group of young adults in their twenties hiking through the woods as night falls. Occasionally, the camera switches angles. It shows the group from alternate perspectives such as the bushes or the tops of trees.

“The director wanted to flip the whole slow zombie portrayal on its head,” 2D explains. “There’s already been talk of fast zombies in the indie horror community, but he wants to take that one step further. In an interview, he said that not only were his zombies going to be fast, but they were also going to fly.”

“That’s stupid. And you thought this was worth the twenty or so quid you blew on it?”

“He’s ahead of his time. You’ll see. Look,” 2D says through a mouthful of crackers. He points to the current scene. One of the protagonists had wandered away from his group in search of a good place to set up camp. “See what he does with the camera there? We’re watching the main character from the perspective of a flying zombie. The director wanted to make a movie about an outbreak that emerges in the wilderness, not because of some virus. It's meant to add to the impossibility of the situation. How do we fight against something not man-made? Watching the film through the eyes of the monster emphasizes how alone and insignificant we are in the face of well, everything. Man versus nature, nature versus man.”

Murdoc grabs the bag of crackers from 2D. “Oh please. This is hardly cutting edge. We all know they’ll all be dead in the end because nature is bigger than man. Duh.” He takes a handful for himself and continues watching.

2D ignores him and continues his reflection. “It makes me wonder whether it would be better to be a zombie at the end, rather than survive. Not sure I would want the loneliness that comes with it.”

Murdoc is beginning to realize that 2D is in one of his chatty, philosophical moods. He attempts to tune out the singer’s blathering with another drink from the bottle of rum he brought with him from the kitchen. He came here to watch a ridiculous movie. Instead, he's stuck listening to banal musings about the true nature of humanity from someone with a half-functioning brain.

“Well if there’s ever a zombie apocalypse here, I’ll be sure to let them eat you first if you’re so eager. You’re already halfway there anyway, and certainly no better off than these divs on screen.”

“Thanks, Muds. If I ever get infected, I’ll make sure not to bite you...unless you want me too,” 2D replies.

This time, it’s Murdoc's turn to ignore him. “Anyways, as far as I’m concerned, anyone who’s too pathetic to fight against a zombie apocalypse deserves whatever is coming to them.” He gets a twisted sense of comfort from blaming.

“I dunno...I don’t see any shame in being afraid of a monster bigger than you. That’s what makes these movies so scary. We all have our own monsters that seem impossible to overcome,” 2D says sagely. “It’s not anyone’s fault, it’s just how it is.”

Murdoc scowls. “Does watching movies at this hour always turn you into a half-braindead Socrates? Or Plato? Hippocrates? He's just naming names now. He fidgets.  

On-screen, another character screams as one of the zombies bites her arm.

“Are you alright there, Muds?” Why did 2D have to pick up on everything? “Movie too scary for ya?”

“No!” Murdoc snaps. “It’s not that… It’s just...” Neither 2D nor the rum he grabbed from the fridge earlier had done anything to dull his current bout of nerves. Instead, all the tension has been gathering at the base of his neck. The throbbing in his head from before is even worse. He groans in frustration.

“You just seem a little on edge, that’s all.”

“...It’s my head.”

“Oh, you have a headache,” 2D says, seemingly pleased that it’s an issue well within the breadth of his expertise. “Do you need any help with it? I was talking with my mum about mine just last week; she gave me something good.”  

Murdoc perks up. He could count on one hand the number of scenarios where he would place his trust in 2D. Pain medicine was one of them. A strong painkiller could change everything. “Do you happen to any of those buggers with you now?”

“Sure,” 2D says, smiling as he moves closer to where Murdoc is sitting.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m um, well for this to work I’m actually going to have to touch your head.”

Immediately, Murdoc jerks away. “You what?!”

2D shrinks back in response. “It’s just a head massage, Muds.  My mum’s worried about the number of prescriptions I have so we cut one of the stronger ones out and replaced it with this. We wanted to see if it made a difference. I’ve been going to a massage therapist for the past two weeks or so. It doesn’t quite do the trick but it works well enough, I picked up some technique myself, uh, I think.”

“You can take all that geeky zen rubbish and sod off,” Murdoc mutters.

“Okay, Muds...alright.”

They continue watching the screen as victim after victim gets infected. 2D continues to interject with overlong descriptions about symbolism, zombie lore, and film technique. Murdoc weighs his options. If he’s being honest, he’s at a point where he would accept anything that might make him feel better. But why did it have to be 2D? On the other hand, the singer wouldn’t stop talking. Considering it was just the two of them, and no one else would ever have to find out, Murdoc makes his decision. Allowing 2D to touch his head in this scenario was justified. Interrupting yet another explanation about the folly of man, he asks, “Hey uh...2D? You know that massage you were talking about? Will giving me one make you shut up for more than ten minutes?”

“Oh..uh,” 2D sounds surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, we can give it a try.” Hesitantly, he moves behind Murdoc and begins.

2D’s fingers send tiny sparks along Murdoc’s scalp as he kneads the muscles in his forehead, moving downwards along his hairline. He dwells on how amazing it feels but pushes that thought to the side with haste. He keeps his eyes locked on the screen and the excessive depictions of gore and chaos. It’s an apt representation of turmoil he is currently feeling inside. What he finds so maddening about 2D, even more than his inscrutability and empty-headedness, was his willingness to be kind to Murdoc. Murdoc had spent the past twenty or so years convincing himself that kindness was not meant to be a part of his life. There was something inherent to his existence that repelled it from him. And he had come to accept that until 2D had to come along and mess it all up. It had to be because he was just too stupid, there was no other answer. Murdoc wasn’t sure he would be able to handle any other answer.

As 2D moves his hands to the back of Murdoc’s head, he begins softly humming. He begins following along to the soundtrack of the movie but soon trails off on his own. Evidently, watching the movie without any sort of verbalization was not going to happen. However, the melody he’s come up with is wistful and soothing. Murdoc makes a mental note to ask him about it in the morning to see if it would fit with some lyrics he had drafting. Slowly, and a bit self-consciously, Murdoc feels himself begin to relax.

“How does it feel so far? Is it working?” 2D asks.

Oh, it was working. More than that, Murdoc realizes a significant amount of his tension had abated. The darkness of the lobby no longer looks so menacing, the unpleasant memories that were hovering over him seem to have floated away. He's never been able to settle himself down from a bad night without copious amounts of alcohol. It’s an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation.

“I think the movie is almost over. Didn’t quite live up to the hype but it was still pretty entertaining after all. How about you?” 2D asks, still looking for a response.

Murdoc yawns. “I’ll give this director you were so excited about some credit. He knows his way around a good death scene. I don’t think I’ve ever seen fake blood used that way before.”

“The fake blood actually cause a lot of controversies because some of it was real animal blood. I almost didn’t buy it myself.”

“Ah. A man after my own heart.” 2D’s hands are still kneading the back of his head when Murdoc moves to lie down on his stomach.

“Oh, are you going to sleep now?” 2D asks.

“No. Keep going.” He would have never considered it earlier in the night but, as the singer's fingers continue to run through his hair, Murdoc muses that sleep may not sound so bad after all. Even though it was just 2D, it’s comforting to have him there. 

“So I guess it’s been helping then? My mum will glad to hear,” 2D says. “But you might want to run a comb through your hair a bit more often, it’s all greasy...also a bit tangled in the back.”

“Just...shut up.”

So he does, returning to the reflective melody he had been humming just minutes ago. It’s the singer’s soft croon that sticks in Murdoc's mind as he finally drifts off completely.

-------

When his eyes open, the first thing Murdoc notices is the half-empty bottle of rum he had left by his side. The next thing he notices is that he's still in the lobby, surrounded by blankets. He must have slept there the entire night. 

“Oh, morning, Muds,” comes a familiar voice just to the right of him. “You’re awake.”

Turning quickly in the direction of the voice, Murdoc finds himself face to face with 2D. “What the hell are you still doing here?” M demands, mortified, “Why didn’t you go back to your own room?”

“Well, I was going to do that, but once you laid down, I wanted to lay down too, and you rolled over on my arm and wouldn’t budge. I tried to tell you, but all you did was try and elbow me. You missed though,” 2D mumbles. It sounds like he’s still half asleep. “Then I guess I just nodded off.”

Murdoc feels his embarrassment beginning to morph into anger but decides to ignore it. He's pretty comfortable right where he is. “You’re lucky you’re my lead singer.” 2D was also lucky that he gave good head massages. “Because otherwise, you would be on some really thin ice right now.”

“We’ll be lucky to see any ice at all this winter what with all the warm weather.”

Usually, an obtuse response from 2D would have earned him a string of insults or a swat on the head. Today was not going to be one of those days. Murdoc turns again so that he’s facing away from the singer, pulling the blanket over his head to block out the light. He was going to savor the moment a bit longer. Despite 2D being 2D, it’s rare that he’s ever felt so at peace.

“Hey, Murdoc? Wait,” 2D says, “You never gave me my arm back.”

“Too bad. I’ll check back in a couple hours,” Murdoc grins beneath the blanket. He still couldn’t pass up a chance to inconvenience the singer at every opportunity. It was too much fun.

“Don’t be such a wanker,” 2D says as he attempts to jerk his arm out from underneath the bassist. “I was nice to you!”

He was right. And he was probably nicer than he deserved, given their history. For that reason, Murdoc would roll off his arm soon enough. He still wanted to talk to him about that song he had been humming.

The singer had surprised him last night. Murdoc knew that 2D had an uncanny ability to figure out how to annoy him to maximum effect, but he never would have expected him to also know what to do to put him at ease. Underneath the covers, he ponders what exactly this realization means to him. He isn’t sure, but he knows it means something. It wasn’t going to eliminate the underlying resentment he still clung to, nor was it going to solve his infinite list of issues. But at the very least, he could rest assured knowing that he wasn’t completely alone.

[marvelousstevetony]

Stay tonight?

Sooo... this is the first fic I’ve ever really finished and I just wanted to put it out there for anyone to find if they’re in need of some super soft boys in critical and sad times like right now...

English is not my first language and there’s probably a whole lot of mistakes, so I apologize about that.

But ok, here we go. 10k+ words of soft Stony: Steve is sick and can’t sleep and Tony kinda helps. Then they get called into action and Steve gets hurt. Suddenly both of them start feelings this they’ve never felt before.

*Light angst and fluff. Lots of fluff.

————————————

As Tony exhaustedly stumbled his way towards his room at 4:20 AM, he decided to make a pit stop in the communal kitchen, as he supposed he should at least eat something after spending the entire night and the majority of the day before in the lab, perfecting his suit for the millionth time. 

He stifled a yawn and harshly rubbed his eyes, but then his body turned stiff at the muted sound coming from the room he was about to enter. Tony was curious by nature, and even though the efficiency of his brain were nearing the 50%, he still felt the need to examine the source of the noise. Just before turning around the corner to the kitchen he wondered who the hell (apart from himself of course, this had been a part of his daily routine for a while now) would be up at this atrocious hour. 

Tony wouldn’t say he was startled — surprised but not startled — when the figure that was nearly collapsed over the kitchen table turned out to be the one and only Steve Rogers, his head buried in his palms. It wasn’t like it was the first time Tony had run into Steve in the middle of the night, however, this wasn’t under the usual circumstances. 

Normally, Steve would be up and ready, drinking a glass of water, wearing his running gear and be ready to get out the door for his daily 10-mile jog. (Which wasn’t really a jog. For anyone else, Steve’s pace was basically their maximum speed, but that’s the perks of having a super-soldier-serum injected into you.) Today, however, Steve didn’t seem particularly lively and spry, which Tony found odd. His back was hunched over, a complete 180 from his usual perfect posture. He was wearing an oversized sweater, by which Tony was impressed, it was normally quite the challenge finding clothes that fit Steve’s muscular build let alone finding something that was too big. He looked so small, Tony thought to himself, which seemed impossible for someone Steve’s size. A strange unfamiliar feeling spread inside Tony’s chest, it was warm and uncomfortable, he thought, and tried to shake the feeling off before finally entering the kitchen. 

Steve was still leaned over the table, so Tony reckoned he hadn’t acknowledged him just yet. Under normal circumstances, Tony would’ve been slightly offended that Steve wasn’t able to just sense his presence, but he let this one slide. He cleared his throat to gain Steve’s attention, which had an immediate effect.  Steve looked up, his eyes were bleary, and his hair was ruffled and messy, which Tony found strangely intriguing. He noticed how Steve’s face was abnormally pale, apart from his cheeks and the tip of his nose which were flushed slightly pink. He seemed rather confused, a bit disorientated perhaps, then squinted at Tony. 

“Oh, um… Tony?“ Steve croaked, voice was weak and fragile, then he coughed slightly.

“Morning Cap. I guess you’re already up for your daily suicide of a marathon,” Tony quipped, at which Steve huffed a laugh that launched at small coughing fit followed by a shaky wheeze. Tony narrowed his eyes, something was definitely off with Steve, Tony was sure of it. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly it was. 

Steve cleared his throat and blinked wearily. “Oh, actually I- snff- um, no… actually not.”

“Then why are you up at such an ungodly hour?” Tony raised an eyebrow, grabbed the nearest chair and sat backwards on it, still facing Steve.  Steve leaned forward, his elbows resting on the kitchen table and copied Tony, raising one eyebrow. “Why are you up, huh?”

Tony followed his movement and also leaned forward. “Nuh-uh, Cap, that won’t work. I asked you first, you answer first,” Tony demanded and made a gesture with his hands. “So go on.”

Steve rolled his eyes and sighed. “I don’t actually know,” he shrugged, “I guess I just cou- snff couldn’t fall asleep, snf.” Just as he finished talking, Tony noticed the other man shiver, which he found odd. The air in the kitchen was rather warm, 75 degrees, and just looking at Steve wearing the thick knitted sweater made Tony overheat. 

Tony’s thoughts returned back to what Steve has just said, but he was unsure how to continue the conversation so he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. 

“Huh, you fantasizing about me, Cap? That would surely explain your restlessness,” Tony smirked. He had wanted to retract it just as he’d said it, even more when Steve’s cheeks flushed bright red and ducked his head with a sheepish grin. 

“Sorry to dis- heh, snff, disappoint you,” Steve said as he rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist, “ but, uh… I- huh,” he suddenly trailed off, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes squinting at Tony. He drew in a sharp breath, burying his face in the crook of his elbow, pressing into the soft fabric of the sweater. Tony was confused. Was Steve about to-

“hehh… hehShoo! ehhTISH’oo! SNFF”

Oh. Oh. Tony’s eyes widened. “B- bless you?” he stammered, sounding like a question. Steve looked blearily up at him, “Oh, umb, snff… Thanks, Tony,” he murmured.

Silence filled the room. Tony didn’t know how to react to what was in front of him. He’d never seen Steve so vulnerable, so defenseless, so… human. Nothing about the great Captain America usually seemed this way to Tony. Steve was always so guarded and stiff, which usually made it very easy, almost too easy, for Tony to piss him off. 

But Steve was also so much else, Tony had to admit. He always had everything under control, much to Tony’s annoyance. Whenever he deliberately tried to infuriate Steve, he’d keep collected and act unfazed (however, sometimes when his composure breaks a tiny bit, Tony would notice, and seeing the irritated expression on Steve’s face would make his entire day). Steve was fearless and strong, nothing could ever keep him away from a situation pointed south. Tony had heard all about Steve as a child. Howard used to praise Steve all the damn time, and Tony hated him for it. No matter how hard he tried to make his father proud, he would never be as good as Captain America himself. Maybe that was why Tony had always felt a weird kind of resentment towards the good man. Captain America was simply flawless, so he was told

In this moment, however, as Steve was sitting there, looking so small and, to some extend, pathetic, Tony felt puzzled. This was an different Steve, a softer, more human Steve. Maybe he didn’t actually know Steve as well as he thought he did.

Some time had passed since the last words between the two had been said. The silence was only interrupted by frequent sniffles and small coughs until Steve spoke up.

“So you didn’t tell me why you’re still up.”

“Oh, y’know, just the usual. Well, really, I was in the workshop, fixing some upgrades and stuff. I was actually on my way to bed before I stumbled upon your pity-party in here,” Tony smirked. “I might also be trying to figure out a way to stop you and Thor from breaking all the punching bags and the rest of the gym equipment. Not because it’s expensive, it’s just a little inconvenient sometimes.”

Steve smiled drowsily at that. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Tony waved a hand. “I just didn’t really fancy going to bed. Sleeping is overrated. A total waste of time.” 

Steve’s expression suddenly grew into a melancholic frown, his eyes lowered and his lips curled into a smile that Tony thought looked more sad as opposed to happy. He felt a faint pain in his chest, one he rarely felt, but something told him it was a little thing called compassion. Ugh, since when had that been a thing?

“Yeah, I guess so… snff I’m not the biggest fan of sleeping either. Mbaybe, snff , maybe that’s why I can’t seem to doze off,” Steve admitted and shrugged. 

Tony caught himself studying the face of the other man. Steve was way older than Tony, he’d been through more shit than one could imagine, but sitting there, body crumpled up and face flushed, Steve looked so young. His long, dark eyelashes glistened in the weak kitchen lights and Tony wondered if maybe Steve had been crying. The peculiar tug at his heart returned, and Tony swallowed thickly as he felt the urge to go over to Steve and wrap him into his arms. Steve looked like someone who desperately needed a hug. But Tony refrained form doing so. It would inappropriate. Why would Steve want a hug from him anyway. 

“Then I guess there’s actually one thing we have in common… Apart from wanting to ban Clint from choosing movies for movie-night,” Tony tried to lighten the mood, but Steve didn’t really react, just a small huff. The silence was deafening and Tony hated it. Tension filled the room and he knew it emanated from when he mentioned his issues with sleeping. He pondered for a few moments and then looked at Steve who was still looking like a sad puppy, and somehow his heart just couldn’t bear seeing Captain America this wrecked, both psychically and mentally. He had to do something about this.

“Hey Cap, I-,” Tony sighed before he continued, “Look, I know I might be the last person you want to talk to about this… about anything, probably, but I just want you to know that you can talk to me. I’m not known to be the best listener. I’m egoistic, or so I’ve been told, but I’ll try my best.” 

His heartbeat skyrocketed and he was afraid Steve would hear the thunderous pounding. When Steve didn’t answer, Tony was slightly disappointed but he didn’t blame him. It was a sensitive subject, one you talk to your friends about. 

“That’s not true, Tony,” Steve’s words were almost a whisper. “You’re not the last person I’d want to talk to… not at all, actually. I just…” Sigh. “I just can’t. Snff! You know, talk about it.” 

Steve voice cracked at the last part of the sentence. He sounded so… broken. 

“I didn’t think the word can’t was in your vocabulary,” Tony said and Steve smiled sadly at that. “And look, it’s hard. After Afghanistan I thought no one would ever be able to help or understand me. Turns out talking about that sort of stuff actually is helpful. Don’t tell Pepper, though, I’ll never stop hearing from it if she finds out I said that.” 

Steve sniffed and rubbed his nose with his knuckles, then swallowed as he took in a shaky breath. “I’m just so scared, Tony,” Steve sounded like he was within an ace of crying, his voice was so weak, almost inaudible. He burrowed his face in his palms and exhaled tremulously.

Tony frowned at what Steve had just said. What the hell was he scared of? Steve was the bravest man Tony had ever known, that was his thing. “Scared? Wait, no- Cap, you’re Captain America. That’s you, you hear me? You’re fearless. You’re basically the embodiment of a true Gryffindor,” Tony insisted. “Ugh, stupid Clint, we’ve watched too many Harry Potter movies lately,” he muttered under this breath.

Steve looked up form his hideout. Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes, it was a matter of seconds before they would start running down his cheeks. 

“That’s all I am,” Steve croaked. I wasn’t a question, more like a statement. “That’s all I ever will be. The fearless Captain America. I’m nothing more that.”

Tony’s heart sank at that. Oh god, what had he done. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No, you’re right. I- I can’t be scared. I have to-“

“Hey, stop! Don’t. Even. Just… Calm down, okay? God, Steve, I’m sorry. You’re allowed to be scared. Hell, everyone gets scared sometimes… The thought just never crossed my mind. I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot,” Tony apologized and stood up, walking towards Steve, placed a hand on his shoulder and squatted down next to him, their eyes meeting each other. 

“So, you want to tell me what’s scaring you, hm?”

Steve wiped his face when a tear slowly escaped. 

“I’m just scared to go to sleep, Tony. Every time I close my eyes, all I hear is screams and explosions and then suddenly I can’t move. It’s like my body is tied, restricted… And I don’t know if it’s my subconscious telling me that I shouldn’t fall asleep because…” Steve took a moment to breathe. “Because I’m scared… of falling asleep. Or maybe more of waking up somewhere I don’t know or recognize… again,” Steve voice broke at the last word.  Tony realized he had been staring the entire time when Steve’s gaze shifted to him and his glassy eyes glared directly into Tony’s. 

“M’sorry… You shouldn’t have to listen to all my pathetic crap,” Steve broke the eye contact when the silence became slightly uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. 

No one dared to say anything or move for a while. They just sat there in the dimmed lights, Tony’s hand still placed delicately on Steve’s shoulder. All of a sudden, however, Tony felt the larger man’s body twitch followed by the sound of a catching breath and Steve muttering a hurried shit. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Steve bury his face in the crook of his elbow and turn away from him.

“Huh.. ehh! uh-huhTChushh! Oh God- snff! h’UHh… UhhIShiew!” Two strong sneezes escaped and launched him into a small coughing fit that left him breathless. 

“Ugh, snff! Excuse mbe,” he mumbled and wiped his nose in the cuff of the soft sweater. “Sorry, I’mb such a mbess.”

“Don’t worry about it. Can’t complain about the fact that you seem too worn out to outwit me,” Tony bantered and gained an eye-roll form Steve. “Bless you, by the way.”

Steve responded with a frail nod and an acknowledging hum. He rubbed at his face and Tony began to realize just how shattered Steve looked. Sure, he’d noticed the bleary eyes and the pinkish tint to his cheeks, but in this moment he saw small beads of perspiration on his forehead and the dark bags under his eyes.

His curiosity got the better of him and slowly he moved his hand from Steve’s shoulder and softly placed the back of his hand to his cheek. He immediately withdrew it, like had he stuck his hand into a flame and burned himself. 

“Geez, Cap, you’re burning up!” he gasped. 

“Oh, no- Don’t worry, Tony. I always run hot,” Steve said hastily. “S’not so bad… just a slight temperature, I think. Probably just cold though,”

Tony was surprised that Steve actually confessed to feeling off, but then again, Steve wouldn’t risk anyone else catching whatever he’d come down with just because he didn’t want to admit defeat. 

“I’m pretty certain that’s a fever, Spangles. I didn’t know you couldn’t get sick anymore… Y’know, with all the steroids they gave you,” Tony gestured to Steve’s muscular body.

“Huh?” Steve cocked his head and Tony figured he didn’t catch his joke.

“The injections, the serum,” he explained and Steve mouthed a silent oh.

Steve gave it a second thought, then shrugged. “Neither did I. Probably the lack of sleep that’s finally catching up with me.”

God, just how bad were Steve’s sleeping problems? The Steve he knew would never show this much vulnerability, especially not in Tony’s company. “Don’t you think it’s probably for the best if you actually try to rest?” Tony requested, crossing his arms. 

“You’re not one to speak, Stark.” Tony unwillingly had to agree with his statement and gave small shrug. 

A short quietness filled the room and, for once, it wasn’t awkward between the two of them. Their confessions seemed to have broken that barrier.  “Well, as your fellow insomniac, why don’t we go watch a movie or something. Like I said, ‘sleep is overrated,’” Tony gave a quick glance over his shoulder, referring to the living room. 

“Sure… why not,” Steve smiled tiredly and propped himself up from the chair. As he stood, his body wobbled, and he quickly leaned against the nearest wall to balance himself. Tony was there in a split second, stabilizing the bigger man. “God dammit, Cap. You’re totally out of it, aren’t you?” Tony worried.

Steve waved the brunette off. “M’ fine, Tony. Y’ don’t need to-“. Steve didn’t get to finish his sentence before dizziness overtook him once again and stumbled slightly. 

Tony grabbed Steve by the bicep, pressing his fingers into the muscle. Gosh, Tony thought. He knew Steve was 220 pounds of pure muscle, but damn. Touching Steve’s upper arm was like hitting a brick. Tony was sure that if there ever would be a live-action Hercules movie, Steve would get the role in a heartbeat. Everything seemed to add up: his incredibly muscular build; his piercing eyes, which were more blue than the clearest ocean; his golden hair, resembling a god perfectly; and lastly, his blinding smile and his plump lips, which Tony definitely didn’t want to kiss. Of course he didn’t, why would anyone think that? No, Steve’s lips were the last thing on earth Tony wanted to touch. The last thing. 

“Yeah you seem fine, Steve. This is exactly what ‘fine’ looks like,” Tony said rolling his eyes and slowly steered Steve towards the living room As soon as they reached the sofa, Tony nearly dropped the bigger man, who fell heavily into the soft fabric. 

Steve groaned and rubbed his temples. “So sorry, Tony. You- snff shouldn’t have to deal with me like this.”

“Good thing I’m such a patient and considerate guy then,” Tony smirked and sat down next to Steve, who was taking up about 90% of the space, his body sprawled all over the sofa. Steve realized this and began shuffling to make more room for the other man. 

“Ugh,” he groaned, “I’m so pathetic, it’s embarrassing.” Tony shrugged. “Stop worrying,” he said and Steve sent him a tired yet thankful smile. “I’ve seen you embarrass yourself on multiple occasions, Spangles, almost on the daily. This is no different,” he continued, at which Steve whimpered and rolled his eyes. 

“Thanks a lot, Stark. Just what I needed.” Tony chuckled and Steve pressed the heel of his hand into his eye, rubbing harshly. Tony felt a smile tugging at his lips, as if it wouldn’t go away even if he desperately tried to do so. 

“Yeah? Well, you’re welcome. I must say, however, I actually kinda like you this way,” Tony admitted and Steve looked quizzically at him, he brows furrowed. “You’re more… how do I say it without sounding like an asshole…”

“I think you passed that point, thanks a lot.” 

“I guess you’re right. In my defensive, my asshole-ness is my trademark. It makes me who I am. Pep always said it got me into a lot of trouble, though, and she wasn’t wrong, to be honest and- Wait, sorry, I’m just rambling now… I just meant to say you’re more… casual? Like you don’t have a stick up your butt.”

“Ouch,” Steve snorted. “You’re being awfully honest. Anything else about me you’d like to criticize?” 

“Oh, Rogers, you’re putting me on the spot. If you’d give me five minutes I could make you an entire presentation.”

Tony couldn’t help but notice the hint of hurt in Steve’s already watery eyes. Why on earth would he even say something like that? As if Steve didn’t feel bad enough being sad and lonely and sleep deprived and dammit Tony, the guy’s sick. Tony was slapping himself internally.  

“Fuck… I didn’t know why I said that. I’m sorry, Cap, I didn’t me-.”

“Don’t-“ Steve held a hand up and interrupted the brunette. “It’s okay. I know. Like you said, it’s your trademark. You can charm your way out of anything. You’re witty, funny. I’ve always admired that about you. Wish I had a bit more of that myself.”

Tony smirked and raised an eyebrow. He leaned back comfortably in the sofa, suddenly feeling a lot better.

“Don’t get too cocky now, Stark. You’re still a smartass and it still pisses me off sometimes.”

They both laughed at that and the joy from the laughter was still hanging in the air even after the silence had settled. 

“I enjoy pissing all of you off, though. I feel like it’s becoming part of the job.”

The chuckled continued, warm and genuine, but suddenly launched Steve into a coughing fit. Tony watched concernedly and placed a comforting hand on Steve’s knee when he was left wheezing and gasping for air. Suddenly, he noticed at familiar sensation: Steve’s eyelashes fluttered and his eyes narrowed. His nose was twisting, rubbing his nostrils gently with his knuckles. He drew in a few shaky breaths, the next one more desperate than the one before, until he finally took a long and deep breath before giving in to the inevitable.

“huhh… uhhhUSChoo! uh.. huuUCHshh! Oh,” Steve sighed after two strong sneezes, which he caught in the crook of his elbow. His body had tensed without he had even noticed it and eventually, when he was sure he’s done, he fell back into the comfortable sofa.

“For Gods’ sake, Rogers. You just don’t anything by halves, do you? You sound terrible.”

Steve hummed grumpily in reply, then shivered, his entire body shaking.

“You cold? I can get blankets,” Tony offered.

“Oh- no, that’s okay. Thanks, though,” Steve smiled sincerely and Tony nodded back at him. Steve’s eyes slowly fluttered shut, but Tony could sense how the soldier was trying to resist the urge to close his eyes and his himself slip out of consciousness. Tony smiled sympathetically at Steve, his cheeks flushed, his nose bright red, hair ruffled and looking the messiest Tony’d ever seen and his lips a perfect shade of pink. 

Then Steve frowned and forced his eyes open, the frustration clear on his face. Tony felt a tug at his heart.

“C’mon, Rogers,” Tony started. “You’re sick, you need to let yourself rest. Please.”

“Tony, I- You know I can’t,” Steve said weekly, his voice so fragile. “I just can’t.”

Tony moved closer, his hand grabbing Steve’s shoulder firmly. “Listen to me, Steve. I know it can be scary, feeling like you’re loosing control, but let me tell you this. Right now, your fear is controlling you. And look what it’s done to you already, you look like you’re on your deathbed- Sorry, right, not helping. Anyways, you simply can’t keep doing this to yourself, or to the team really.”

Tony knew he was being a sneaky, manipulative little shit for dragging the team into the situation, they were Steve’s soft spot, but he forgave himself, it was in Steve’s best interest.

“I really hate it when you’re right, Stark,” Steve growled annoyedly. “Luckily, that’s a rare occasion.”

Tony smirked. “Did I just hear the Steve Rogers admit that I’m right? God, you’re definitely sick, I think we need to call Bruce.” They both laughed. 

“Go to sleep, Steve. I’ll be right here if you need me. I promise.”

“Thanks, Tony… Really. Thank you.”

Steve’s voice was so soft and sincere, Tony couldn’t help but get butterflies in his stomach. When Steve’s eyelids got heavier and heavier, and at last shut entirely, Tony just had to run his fingers through the soft, blonde hair. After a few minutes of just watching and appreciating the sight in front of him, everything got darker and within a minute or two, Tony was laying halfway on top of Steve, both of them fast asleep in each other’s arms. 

————————————

Tony was awoken by a loud alarm, his body jerking up into a half-sitting, half-lying position. He blinked rapidly, trying to gain focus after coming back to consciousness. He figured Steve was doing the same, as he also was looking confusedly around, seeming completely disorientated. 

“Shit,” Tony muttered under his breath as the realized the loud noice was the Avengers emergency-alarm. “JARVIS, what’s happening? What’s the time even?”

“The time is 7.18 AM, Sir. I’m sorry to disturb you and Captain Rogers, but it seems an emergency has occurred. Your assistance is needed,” The AI announced. 

Tony groaned and rubbed his temples, then quickly stood up and walked determined out of the room to get into the suit. Just as he reached the doorway he called over his shoulder, “Gear up, Cap, we’ve got a city to save.”  Tony has seemingly forgotten all about the reason why they were both lying on the common room sofa, completely tangled up into each other. Steve whimpered and gave a shaky sigh followed by a harsh cough and a weak wheeze. He squeezed his eyes shut, then stood up, perhaps a bit too fast, as he stumbled and had to grab the sofa to keep himself from falling. He sighed once more, a deep breath, before exiting the room just like Tony had done 30 seconds earlier. 

————————————

“Guys, I need back up on 23rd,” Natasha called through the comms. She was still panting from beating up seven wolf-like aliens all on her own, only to see a stream of more than 20 new ones approaching. 

“On my way,” Steve responded, dodging multiple hits while running hastily down the street. When he escaped a larger group of attackers, he got a view of the city. Broken glass was covering the ground, the sunlight reflecting every once in a while, when he skimmed through a thick cloud of smoke. Fires were spread out everywhere, in the buildings, in the parks, on the pavements, some of them were small, others were tall flames leaving no hope for saving the matter. 

Steve heard nothing but white noise, a long screaming sound ringing in his ears, but he could see the tears when passing pedestrians, sense them sobbing and feel their fear — there was no need for any sound. Steve could hear them loud and clear. Shouting, whimpering, crying… He felt an ache in his chest, a thump, and he swallowed thickly, quickening his pace. 

He tried to only look forward. If he stopped running now, he wouldn’t reach Natasha in time, so he accelerated once more, frowning in tension. One, two, one, two, he counted inside his head, hoping to keep his mind off of the disastrous state of his surroundings. But fuck. Why was breathing so damn hard? Normally, Steve could run for hours without being short of breath or even breaking sweat. 

Now, however? He was wheezing, continuing to swallow the urge to cough and press his tongue to the roof of his mouth to control the itch that was building in his right nostril. He felt the congestion in his entire face, how he almost couldn’t breathe through his nose, how his eyes felt droopy and dry, how the area around his nose was slightly swollen. 

He just couldn’t focus. All he wanted was to be at home, at cup of tea in his hand and lying in his bed — maybe even sleep. Apparently sleeping wasn’t impossible when Tony was right there next to himself, giving off a warmth Steve hadn’t felt since before the ice. Closing his eyes, knowing he wasn’t alone, knowing Tony knew what was going on when he closed his eyes was so comforting. Steve hadn’t opened up to someone like that since Bucky had… since Bucky. 

Steve was well aware that he and Tony were very different, polar opposites some would say, but their conversation that morning had given Steve some kind of hope that they could set their differences aside and be friends. Maybe even more than friends if… No, Steve thought. No. Tony deserves better. 

“How far, Cap? I don’t know how much longer I can keep them off,” Natasha interrupted Steve’s inner monologue, her usual calm and cool voice seeming affected by concern. 

“I’ll be right there, Nat. I’m only- Ugh!” 

Through his peripheral vision, Steve noticed something blocking the light, a large shadow covering him. He instinctively turned his head to identify the objects, his eyes enlarging as a car was less than 3 metres away from him. The car sped up, driving Steve into a corner. Reactively, Steve threw himself back, regrettably smashing his head into the wall to avoid getting hit by the car, then fell to the ground with a hard landing. He heard a loud crack and winced at the pain coming from his ribs. Before he had anytime to compose himself, another large object was thrown at him from the car. Grabbing the shield, trying to cover himself, he rolled and dodged the object by a few feet.  An explosion, powerful despite its humble size, sent splinters in every direction. The majority of Steve’s body had been covers by the shield, but he felt small shards prickling his legs through the holes in his suit like a needle. He cursed under his breath and slowly got up from the ground. Looking around, he heard nothing but his own wheezing breath, until the silence was broken by a loud bang. 

Steve looked around once more, searching for the source of the sound. Everything suddenly seemed to happen in slow-motion and a few seconds later, Steve felt a throb in his stomach and fell to his knees once again. He grabbed his waist and leaned against the wall. His breathing was fast, hitching, as he let out a painful grunt. 

“Cap? Cap, you there? Steve!”

Silence.

“Rogers! Answer us!” someone snapped though the comms. 

Steve drew in a shaky breath. “I’m-,” his voice broke, so he cleared his throat, “‘M o-okay. I, uh…”

He trailed off as he looked down and saw a red liquid oozing out from the wound, leaking through his fingers. He grabbed harder as another stab of pain ran through his body. He sat up against the wall, his vision became blurry. He was now panting, grunting in agony.

“Guys, Cap’s down. Send the med-team immediately. Now!”

Steve was sweating, beads peeping down his forehead, his hair wet and dark at the roots. He suddenly felt tired, his body numb apart from the ache in his abdomen. 

He had completely lost all sense of time, he had no idea how long had passed when he felt something snatch his shoulder. His narrowed his eyes, clearing his slurred sight. focussing. When he looked up, he was met by a pair of warm, brown eyes that were filled his worry and, to some degree, anger.

“T’ny?” Steve mumbled.

“In the flesh, Cap.”

“S’rry. I lost focus,” Steve apologized. 

Tony sighed and huffed a laugh. 

“Well, yeah, no shit… Geez, you’re burning up, we need to get you out of this,” Tony hissed as he touched Steve’s forehead with the back of his hand, then continued to feel each cheek. 

Steve wiggled away a little, feeling a bit embarrassed. He let out a whimper and looked down at his wound, then clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the pain.

“Fuck, Cap, you’re hurt. We need to get you to the med-wing.”

Steve just shook his head, but before ehe could even open his mouth to protest, Tony spoke up.

“There’s no discussion here, Steve. You’re hurt — and sick — you need medical attention, right now,” Tony said sternly. 

Steve wanted to object so badly, but he was too tired to response with anything else but a sigh and an irritated hum. He just continued looking directly into the eyes of the armoured man: shiny and comfortable and beautiful. All the noise and clatter around them seemed to fade out. Tony’s mouth was moving, yet it was inaudible to Steve. He felt how Tony’s grip got tighter, and Steve cracked a smile at how their bodies were so close, so connected. As his eyelids became heavier and heavier he blinked wearily until he reluctantly gave in to the darkness. 

————————————

Tony didn’t remember how long he was sat there, staring out into space, his eyes becoming dry from not blinking. His fingers were drumming nervously on the workshop table, a quirk he’d had for as long as he could remember — he always had to do something with his hands. He’d noticed how Steve did the exact same thing when they were in debrief after a mission (he could always tell Steve was getting impatient, but of course Captain Perfect kept composed), or whenever he got nervous or uncomfortable, which was often, maybe too often, and mostly caused by Tony or Clint when they said something inappropriate. He’d also notice how he’d duck and shake his head and smile shyly, his neck and ears flushing slightly pink and Tony lived for making Steve act like this. 

God, get it together Stark, Tony thought to himself and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching he bridge of his nose. He couldn’t stop thinking about Steve and how mad — furious — he was at him for not being careful enough. Then Tony got mad at himself, as he remembered how unwell and weak Steve had been before they’d been alerted, and Tony facepalmed himself internally for forgetting and letting Steve go fighting when he obviously was in no state to do so. Steve probably would’ve ignored him and gone fighting anyway, but at least Tony would’ve been able to cross his arms and say I told you so. 

It had been about six hours since the battle had ended, seven since Steve was injured and laid unconsciously in Tony’s arms. As soon as the med-team had showed up and the rest of the Avengers has finished up beating the Hydra-agents (when would Hydra stop bugging then, for god’s sake, Tony wondered annoyedly) and aliens Tony had flown back to the Tower, ignoring Fury and Hill and everyone else telling him to do the horrible post-battle debrief or search-and-rescue, which was usually Steve’s job. Steve would never complain and he usually volunteered to take care of the aftermaths, which Tony found incredibly irritating and really admirable. 

It was obvious how the Captain felt a lash of guilt whenever people got hurt in battle. He wanted to make sure everyone was safe. How he swallowed thickly and looked away to hide teary eyes when the stats were reported on the news. How he’d go to the gym and spend hours destroying the punching bags in anger at how he couldn’t save every single human on the planet. 

Steve spent so much time looking after others that he forgot to take care of himself and now he had been shot, broken multiple ribs, suffer a severe concussion and probably a lot of other smaller injuries Tony couldn’t recall. But the fact was that Steve was so unbelievably stupid and thick-headed. And sweet and caring and basically everything Tony wished to be. Tony groaned loudly and threw his head back, at which the bots reacted, startling their creator. 

“Fuck off,” Tony growled and Dum-E and U. 

He ran a hand through his greasy hair and sighed. When had Steve slipped his way into Tony’s mind like this? This wasn’t like Tony - Tony didn’t think of people like this! Ugh, fucking stupid, adorable, perfect Steve Rogers had infiltrated a literal genius’ mind, and Tony absolutely hated having to admit to it. 

After a few minutes of Tony staring directly into the ceiling while continuously giving himself shit for thinking of one well-known super-soldier, his inner dialogue was disturbed by JARVIS.

“Agent Romanoff is requesting access, Sir,” the AI announced.

“Access denied,” Tony grumbled crossly.

Much to his annoyance, he heard the sound of the door opening and a pair of heels stamping towards him. The redhead stopped a few feet in front of him and crossed her arms, accusingly raising one eyebrow.

“Traitor,” Tony muttered under his breath. “I thought I said access denied,” Tony repeated his precious statement.

“I apologize, Sir. Agent Romanoff has overridden your security code. I’m designed to allow all Avengers access if the code is overruled,” JARVIS explained.

“How did she- ugh, doesn’t matter… Who the hell designed you to allow that?” Tony exclaimed confusedly. 

“You did, Sir.”

“For fucks sake,” Tony complained, then sighed and eyed Natasha. “Why are you here?”

That came out harder than he had expected it to, but Tony was feeling too petty to do anything about it and just left it at that. 

She snorted. “Hello to you too, Stark.”

Tony didn’t reply, just frowned. Natasha sighed and her expression softened. Grabbing the nearest the nearest chair, she sat down and crossed her legs. “You okay?” she asked. Tony shrugged.

“No one blames you, Tony. You couldn’t have prevented it,” she said reassuringly. 

“Sorta seems like I could,” he mumbled and sighed. “How is he?”

Natasha tensed and rubbed her thighs uneasily.

“He’s… he’s okay, mostly. He looks horrible, though. Med-team put him on bed rest, which he wasn’t too pleased with.”

Tony huffed a laugh and scratched the back of his neck. 

“I would imagine… He’s probably the worst sick person ever. And now he’s injured too, which is just the icing on the cake, isn’t it?” 

Natasha laughed quietly. “Yeah… he seems miserable, to be honest. He just keep sniffling and sneezing. I’ve never seen him like this, Sam hasn’t either. He looks like he’s about too pass out from exhaustion. But he won’t sleep.” Her tone tuned more serious towards the end of the sentence. 

Tony swallowed thickly. Of course Steve wouldn’t even try to go to sleep. Tony didn’t care if Steve’s ramble last night was out of pure fatigue and delusion or if he genuinely trusted Tony. Tony hoped for the latter but wasn’t convinced. 

Steve had been pretty hazy and probably hadn’t meant for anyone to hear all that. Tony felt guilty for being happy Steve had shared his feelings, but for once, Tony believed the two of them could actually get along, not bickering about all the small irrelevancies. 

“He’s been asking for you, by the way. He’s… worried about you” 

Huh. Tony felt odd… Steve was injured and probably fully drugged-up and presumably not conscious enough to think clearly, but Tony couldn’t ignore the slight satisfaction of knowing that Steve thought about him, even when he had so much else to be concerned about. But of course, no one could know that, so Tony just rolled his eyes.

“The guy’s got a gunshot wound the size of my fist, broken multiple bones and is nursing a concussion just to top it off, and he’s worried about me? That’s ridiculous.”

“I know… That’s Steve for you,” she smiled fondly. 

“He’s an idiot. A fucking sacrificing, self-destructive idiot,” Tony tried to sound angry, but both of them knew he couldn’t really be angry at Steve. Steve was just too honorable for his own good.

“I don’t disagree… But he’s our idiot,” she simplified and Tony hummed in agreement. 

A silence settled over them, the workshop completely quiet once again. They looked deeply into each other’s eyes, a meaningful glance that Tony didn’t know he had needed, but apparently he had ‘cause his demeanor eased when she laid a comforting hand on his arm. 

“He really wants to see you, though. You were the first one he asked for.”

“You were there when he woke up?” Tony asked and she nodded almost imperceptibly in reply.

“Go,” she demanded and signaled towards the door. 

Tony hesitated and frowned. He opened his mouth to say something but never got the chance to speak before Natasha nearly pushed him off his chair. “Go!” She encouraged once more.

Tony smiled slightly as he stumbled out of the chair, headed for the door and made his way to Steve’s floor. 

————————————

The elevator doors opened directly into the living space when it reached Steve’s floor. Tony walked out cautiously, trying to keep quiet. He didn’t even know why, it wasn’t like he didn’t want Steve to know he was coming. 

As he stood there, he surveyed the room. He hadn’t been visiting Steve’s floor very often, but it looked just like how he’d imagined it: tidy, organized and depressingly empty. Everything seemed to have its place. The few paintings that were on the walls hung perfectly straight; the kitchen was exemplarily clean, not a single plate was in the sink (Tony couldn’t relate); the pillowed sat flawlessly in the couch, which looked like it had never been used. It was almost surgical how impeccable the room looked, and Tony’s heart ached at how impersonal it was. The only sign of life was the used tissues that were scattered randomly around the room. 

“Cap?” Tony called out.

He was met by silence.

“Cap, you in here?” he tried once more.

Still no response. He moved further into the apartment, examining the room as he went on. Running a finger over the sideboard surface, checking for dust, which just confirmed Tony’s thoughts. Exemplarily clean. He did, however, notice a piece of paper that was folded into a small square. Tony looked over his shoulder before reaching out for it and unfolding it. The paper was wrinkled and delicate and old, like had it been crumpled up far too many times. 

When Tony got a look at the content, he immediately understood. Damn, he thought to himself as his eyes ran over the photo of Steve and someone who Tony presumed was Bucky Barnes. Steve looked… different. Skinnier and shorter, the photo was obviously taken before the serum, but he was still immensely beautiful and the smile on his face was unlike any of the smiles Tony had ever seen from him. It was wry and crooked and sweet and authentic. It was real, it made Tony dizzy and giddy, and he suddenly felt an egoistical desire to make Steve smile like that again.

Then he heard some shuffling from one another room, quickly folded the picture and put it back in place. He slowly made his way into the corridor, listing carefully to identify the source of the sounds. He narrowed his eyes in concentration when the shuffles were replaces by sniffles and catching breath.

“uhh… hu- uhH! huhh? uhhISh’oo!! snffSNff! Huh… huhEschh! snff!” 

The sneezes were followed by a pained whimper and Tony wanted to resist the urge to barge in through the door and take care of him, but he just couldn’t. Fortunately he had a little self-control and opened the door to Steve’s bedroom quietly and peaked through the opening.

The wounded soldier was sat hunched over on his bed, clutching his torso and clenching his jaw. (Tony was sure he could cut himself on Steve’s jawline — so strong, so sharp and Tony wanted to run his fingers over it softly, caressingly. Wait- no! He did not.) Steve was wearing sweatpants and that same sweater he had worn in the kitchen the night before, his hair was wet and messy, and Tony could see the flush in his cheeks and how his nostrils were rough and pink, like had they been abused by too many tissues and probably the cuff of the sweater as well. 

Tony knocked rhythmically on the door and it creaked as he opened it wider. Steve looked up in surprise with his mouth hanging slightly open.

“Hey there, stranger,” Tony smirked and walked towards the bed. 

“Tony,” Steve croaked then cleared his throat. “Um… hu- y-you really shouldn’t be here right now. Uhh…uh-huhTChushh!” 

He sneezed off to the side, away from Tony, coughed harshly and winced wretchedly afterwards. He let out a whine as he breathed in short and fast breaths as if every inhale was sending a thousand needles into his stomach.

 Steve’s eyebrows drew together in discomfort, which Tony, even though he wasn’t a genius when it came to body language, noticed immediately and sat down next to Steve and comfortingly laid an arm around the broad shoulders and placed the other on top of Steve’s own hand that was attached to his ribs. 

“At ease soldier,” Tony mumbled and gently stroked the other man’s arm.

“You’re pathetic. And a selfish asshole, by the way” Tony continued when Steve’s expression became less tense. 

Steve smiled wryly. “Thanks a lot, Stark. Nothing’s new then,” he said and cocked and eyebrow at which Tony rolled his eyes.

“Don’t try to be smart here, Rogers. If you weren’t already hurt, I’d punch you so hard I’d break my own hand,” he snarled half seriously, half jokingly.

“Hm,” Steve hummed. “So are you gonna tell me why I’m in trouble? snFF!”

“You really don’t know? Wow, you’re even more stupid than you look, Capsicle,” Tony commented when Steve shook his head.

“And you’re apparently a bigger asshole than one would think,” Steve clicked his tongue and Tony smirked smugly. “Not that I don’t want your company Stark, but um… I have some work to do, so-“

Steve wiggled his way out of Tony’s embrace and used the edge of the bed as support when he stood up. He turned away from Tony, who had let out an annoyed sigh when the soldier had moved, not wanting to have to deal with the reacting he knew was coming. As he approached the door, he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen and clasped his side. 

“For Gods’ sake, Rogers!” Tony exploded as he raised from the bed, and Steve jumped. “Will you please you give yourself a break for once? I’m so fucking tired of you acting like this!”

“Acting how?” Steve asked through gritted teeth. 

Tony threw his hands up in frustration, then pulled his hair tightly, eyes widening. “Like this, like you’re okay when you’re obviously not!” 

Tony gestured at Steve’s bruise and bandaged body.

“Tony, please stop, I’m fi-“

“Shut up. Shut. Up! Don’t say you’re fucking fine, Steve. Everyone knows you’re not. And for the record, you’re an idiot. A stupid, inconsiderate, self-sacrificing idiot, who never thinks before he acts this recklessly. You could’ve died out there. Yeah- hey, don’t look at me like that, Rogers. Do you ever consider what could happen when you go into a fight when you’re in no state to do so? Huh? I don’t think you do, ‘cause then you’d know how fucking ignorant that is. I don’t want your death on my conscience so you better stop being a careless, selfish ‘hero’.”

Tony stopped to breathe and realized he’d just stood there and nearly screamed at Steve for about a minute. His sight had turned blurry and his entire body was shaking, his lower lip quivering intensely. 

None of them dared to move, both waiting for the other one to speak up first. Steve’s jaw was clenched once again, the way he always clenches it and Tony hates it because he can’t read it. He doesn’t know what it means — it has so many meaning, he’s learned. He does it when he’s in pain, or when he’s nervous, or angry, or sad and, Tony thinks, maybe even when he’s scared. And Tony doesn’t know which of Steve’s clenches he would prefer right now. 

Steve’s gaze that had been directed right into Tony’s eyes now wandered around the room. His hands were rubbing against his thighs and he was biting the inside og his cheeks. Nervous, Tony concluded. He’d seen Steve this way, observed him, enough times that even though his clenched jaw was ambiguous, Tony would always recognize his nervous ticks. Not that he had spent a lot of time does said thing. No, it was just that Steve often was nervous… yeah, that’s why.

Steve looked up for a second, his eyes were sorrowful and apologetic. “M’sorry, Tony…” Steve mumbled quietly. His voice was thin, on the edge of breaking. “But y-you really shouldn’t huh! be h-here riihh right now,” Steve spoke through catching  breaths, hurrying out the last part of the sentence before letting out a soft TShhoo!

“First of all, this is my tower, you don’t get to tell me where I can and cannot be. Second of all, why is it so hard for you to let anyone care for you?” 

Steve cracked a small smile at first, but his expression quickly crumbled once again. 

“I… snf! You really don’t have to worry, I’m fi- ugh,” another throb in his ribs sent a wave of torment through Steve’s upper body, bending him in half with one hand resting on his knee while the other was fastening his side. Tony was quick to support him, carefully guiding him back to the bed.

“Yeah, you’re fine, I get it. Now sit down you lunatic.”

Steve slumped down into the softness of the bed and nodded a thanks at Tony.  “I appreciate your help, Stark, but I can take care of myself,” he said, earning a huffed laugh from Tony.

“You’re the worst at taking care of yourself, Rogers. And that’s a lot coming from me. Why are you so damn stubborn?”

“Will you please just leave it Stark?” Steve scowled. 

“No, Cap! I won’t.”

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you wasting your time here, Tony?” Steve shook his head in confusion. “You don’t care about me. No one actually cares about me, Tony. All they care about is stupid Captain America.”

Now Tony was the one who’s uncomfortable. He swallowed hard. God, was he going to do this? Was he going to tell Steve? 

“That’s not true, Steve.”

Just then, Steve looked up, clearly puzzled.

“How the hell would you know?” 

Tony sighed and scratched his neck. It was now or never.

“Because I care, Steve.” There it was. “I care about you so much it hurts. And I don’t like it, cos’ I don’t do this catching-feelings-thing.”

Steve’s jaw dropped, his mouth hanging slightly open, as if he wanted to say something, but Tony held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t. I just want to say something… Look, Steve. You and I both know that I’m a mess, kinda like you right now. I’m stubborn. I can’t keep my mouth shut and I say things I know I shouldn’t say. I’m inconsiderate and egoistical and I don’t care for anyone else. Or so I thought until about 24 hours ago. The point is that I care about you Steve. Hell, I freaking love you. No- I’m not done yet. I don’t expect you to reciprocate my feelings. I know I’m not easy to love, but I just… I wanted you to know… That I care.”

The silence made Tony even more nervous. Shit, he thought. He had just rambled and said everything he felt and Steve probably didn’t like him back, and he hadn’t prepared an escape plan for when Steve broke his heart.

“You’re right, Tony. You’re not... You infuriate me like no one else. You drink way too much coffee and never listens to my orders, snff! To anyone’s orders, in fact. You’re a pain in my ass,” Steve listed and Tony could only nod in agreement. “But you’re also generous. You do care about the people you love. I know the reason you work so much is because you want to help. And yes, we clash and we argue, just like right now, but you bring out the best, a- snf! and sometimes the worst in me. But I wouldn’t have it any other way… I love you too, Tony.”

Tony stood tongue-tied and stared at Steve. That was unexpected. “Wait, what?” 

“I love you,” Steve repeated, his face was serious as he grabbed Tony’s hand and pulled him closer until they both sat on the bed, looking directly into each other’s eyes. 

Tony was apprehensive as his fingers intertwined with Steve’s.

“So you, Steve Rogers hot-as-fuck and super sexy, hunky super-soldier,” Tony’s hand moved uncontrollably, gesturing at Steve’s body, “are in love… with me?” 

Steve ducked his head and chuckled as he gave Tony’s hand a squeeze. When he looked up, his eyes were sparkling. They were still red-rimmed and he still looked worn out, but something had changed. 

“I am. Very much so.” 

Tony felt his cheeks flush and smiled like a giddy teenage girl. “That makes this so much easier for me,” he whispered as he leant in softly placed his lips on Steve’s. One hand was cupping the soldier’s cheek, the other one still squeezing his tight. 

Steve’s lips were soft and had a sweet taste, just like Tony had imagined and they matched his perfectly, as if they were made for each other. It started off slow and gentle but grew more passionate by the second, their hand suddenly fiddling all over each other. Tony reckoned things would’ve progressed even further had Steve not pulled away.

“Sorry… We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against Tony’s. “You’ll get sick.”

Tony smiled fondly. How hadn’t he noticed how amazing Steve was before now? “You sound like you think I care about getting sick.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head affectionately. “Oh, I know you don’t. But I do. snf! And I’m probably not in the best of state to… y’know… right now,” he smiled wryly. Tony had completely forgotten about the fact that Steve had literally been shot.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, “I’m so sorry, Steve. I should probably just, like, let you get some sleep. No work.” Tony stood up and shot the wounded soldier a serious look at which Steve laughed, still holding Tony’s hand.  “Or you could, maybe, just… do go?”

Tony felt something in his stomach lurch and wondered how Steve had managed to sweep him off his feet in the matter of 24 hours. 

“Only if you promise to rest and let me take care of you,” he wiggled his eyebrows at Steve, who was rolling his eyes but chuckled lightly.

“Manipulative asshole… snf! but I think I could be persuaded to oblige just this once.” 

Tony lips curled into an affectionate smile as he sat back down. 

“Just this once, huh?” He slowly bent forward, his face nearing Steve’s who stayed still.

“Tony, I-“ Steve started but Tony cut him off.

“Shhh… stop speaking, Steven,” he purred as he placed a tender kiss on Steve’s cheek, pulling him into a warm embrace. As held held onto him, his arms barely reaching all the way round Steve’s broad frame, he gently pushed Steve backwards until they were both lying down in each other’s arms. They didn’t speak, just listened to the way they harmonized as they breathed in unison. Tony found a comfort in hearing the proof of life that followed every in- and exhale. Slowly he felt his eyelids grow heavier and closed a few moments later. He still listened attentively to the way Steve’s breath evened out. It was so peaceful, and Tony happily thought to himself that nothing could take the calm away. 

That was until he suddenly heard small, desperate gasp and felt Steve shuffle out of his hold.

“T- Toohhny, sn! I gooh- gotta,” Steve spoke through hitching breath. 

Tony’s eyes fluttered open and slowly released Steve from his grip but kept a comforting hand on Steve’s arm as the blonde sat up, his breath caught and he buried his face in the crook of his elbow.

“Bless you,” Tony said preemptively.

“huh… snff! huuishh’uh! heh- eishh’ew” snfsnf… h’USHhh! Ow…” Steve doubled over as the sneezes overcame, the last one particularly strong and leaving Steve breathless as he winced and let out a painful grunt, a hand clenched to his ribs.

“Bless you. Bless you… God bless you, Steven,” Tony spoke softly as he carefully stroked Steve’s abdomen from behind him. 

“Sorry, I-… this is horrible. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Steve sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. 

Tony placed a soft kiss to Steve’s shoulder and nuzzled his face into the side his neck.

“It’s okay to let your guard down for once in your life, Steve. You’re sick, you need to relax… and, oh my god I’m gonna regret saying this later, but you’re surprisingly cute when you’re not so uptight,” Tony whisper and Steve could catch the undertones of a smile in his voice.

“I can’t believe me being sick, and sniffly, and sneezy and gross makes you think I’m cute,” he shook his head lightly, huffing a laugh. 

“Yeah, me neither. I think it’s because you can’t keep up with my wit when,” Tony joked, nudging Steve slightly.

“Yeah? You just wait a few days, I’ll be back to outwitting you in no time, Stark,” Steve quipped earning a laugh from Tony and Steve couldn’t help blush at how the soft chuckle was like the most beautiful melody he could imagine.

Tony Stark was used to posing in front of the cameras, giving his best toothy smile, making conversation with everyone. He went to galas and fundraisers, wearing some of world’s most expensive suits and looking as glamorous, if not more than a Hollywood-actor on the red carpet. Point is, Tony was used to keeping up a facade and adapting his demeanor to fit the genius-billionaire reputation. 

Not a lot of people could tell the difference between the role he played and the real man that was behind the sharp exterior. But Steve could. 

Steve had always hated the way Tony forced a smile in front of the cameras, how he was putting up an act. It was in times like this, quiet and intimate, that Steve could feel the warmth and sincerity that exuded from him, how has smile was smaller and a bit crooked but so much more real and so much more Tony. Whenever he managed to get that side out of Tony, Steve’s heart would flutter and think to himself that maybe, just maybe, he could be good enough for him and Steve would feel a wave of happiness that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. That’s how he felt in this instant. To hear Tony’s laugh, knowing he was he reason behind it, was more rewarding than anything else Steve could imagine. 

“Come on, lay back down,” Tony murmured as he pulled Steve back until he laid comfortably on the bed. “Get some rest.”

For once, Steve didn’t protest. He obliged, shuffling into his preferred sleeping position, on his side, curling into himself and closed his eyes. He let out a relieved sigh and Tony could visibly see the way Steve’s body relaxed into the soft fabric and huddled closer to Tony, who couldn’t help but smile a how small he looked.

“Tony?”

“Hm? Yeah?”

Steve held Tony’s hand a little tighter, giving it a squeeze. 

“Can you, like, maybe… will you stay, tonight? Please,” Steve begged, frowning in suspense as he waited for Tony to answer. However, his expression softened as soon as he felt a tickling breath behind his ear and a pair of lips brushing his cheek.

Before definitively answering, Tony took one last glance the gorgeous face he so suddenly had fallen in love with. His forehead was covered in a thin layer of fever-induced sweat. He had dark circles under his eyes, a clear indication of just how badly he needed to sleep. His nostrils were still twitching ever so slightly and he sniffed quietly as he tugged himself closer to the duvet. 

Tony had never imagined that he would fall in love with the man he had both idolized and hated when growing up, but then again, he never thought good things could actually happen to him. But this. This was more than Tony could ever hope for. 

He laid down next to Steve, wrapping an arm around his waist, letting the bigger man be the little-spoon, and he instantly felt sure that this would be the best night’s sleep the two insomniacs would’ve had in a very long time. 

“I’ll stay. Of course I will.”

[unreasonablestarkstan]

Whumptober - Superfamily

Prompt: Stab wound

Words: 1612

Notes: Superfamily fic, AU where Peter is Steve and Tony’s son but they don’t know that he’s Spider-man. I got a bit carried away with this one, forgive me. 

TW for blood and knives

Read on AO3 as part of my Whumptober 2019 series - I’m writing Irondad, Stony, and Superfamily fics. 

xxx

One thing was absolutely certain: Peter’s dads were going to kill him. It was three hours past his curfew and he still wasn’t home. He had been out patrolling as Spider-Man and had just lost track of time. It was a busy night, and it was hard to think about curfew when there was so much excitement. He had helped stop a car thief, saved a kitten from a tree, and webbed up a man who was trying to steal from an ATM. But now it was 1AM and he was still 10 blocks from home, trying to think of an excuse to tell his parents when he finally got home. They couldn’t know that he was Spider-Man, they would lose it if they found out. He would never be allowed to go out patrolling again.

Peter had just settled on a lie - he would say that he and Ned lost track of time while working on their new Death Star Lego set - when he heard a woman screaming on the street down below. His own petty worries about missing his curfew vanished and he swung down to the scene. A man wearing a ski mask was holding a knife to a young woman’s throat as he forced her to empty her pockets and purse. She was shaking in terror, but her eyes widened when she saw the one and only Spider-Man sneaking up behind the mugger.

“Hey, asshole!” Peter said, tapping the man on the shoulder, “How about you try stealing from me, instead? Give yourself a challenge!”

“Shit.” He heard the mugger whisper before he dropped the woman’s money and spun around to face Peter.

“Nice mask,” Peter said, lunging forward to take the man down. It was an easy enough fight, the mugger was really no match for his super strength. He got him pinned against the wall and webbed one of his hands against the bricks. But Peter wasn’t fast enough, and before he could web his other hand, the man sunk his knife deep into Peter’s shoulder. He yanked it out and went in for another stab, this time closer to Peter’s heart. But Peter was faster now, his body pumping with adrenaline, and he was able to web up the man’s free hand before he could wound him again.

Peter didn’t feel anything at first. He just took a few steps back, staring at the man in complete shock. He had gotten his fair share of cuts and bruises in his time as Spider-Man, but he had never been stabbed before. He looked down at where the knife had been and saw a red stain starting to spread radially outward on his blue hoodie. The pain finally registered in his brain he cried out when he felt it, white-hot and terrible. With a last ounce of strength he webbed up the man’s mouth before falling to his knees.

“Spider-Man!” The woman yelled, running over to him.

“I’m okay,” Peter said through clenched teeth, feeling very much Not Okay. But despite the intense pain, he knew deep down that he would be fine. His healing factor was already taking over, and the blood flow was slowing down. Still, it hurt like hell.

“How can I help you? Should I call an ambulance?”

“No!” Peter responded, sounding harsher than he intended. If he ended up in the hospital then his identity would be revealed and this whole thing would be over.

“Sorry, I mean, I don’t need an ambulance. I’ll be fine. My building is right over here, anyway.”

Peter got up to his feet and started walking towards his building, clutching his shoulder with his opposite hand. The woman followed him, her face full of concern.

“You’re sure you’re okay, Spider-Man?”

“I’m sure. You just call the police and tell them to come pick up that asshole we left on the wall.”

“Of course, Spider-Man. Here, at least let me get the door for you.”

Peter gave her a tight smile and walked into the building, trying to hide the pain from his face until she turned away. When he was sure that she was gone, he took off his mask and hoodie, his shoulder screaming out in pain at the motion. But it had to be done. His dads couldn’t see him in this outfit. He looked in his backpack and groaned when he saw that all he had was a white shirt.

Great. No chance of hiding the blood.

He put the white shirt on anyway, hoping he could get away with telling his dads that he had a nosebleed or something. It probably wouldn’t work, but it was worth a shot. He got in the elevator and braced himself for the inevitable, the dread growing in his stomach as he ascended the many floors. At least it was taking his mind off the pain in his shoulder.

When he got upstairs, Peter stood outside the door for a few minutes, not at all ready to face his dads. He pressed his ear against the door and listened, irrationally hoping that they had already gone to bed. That hope was instantly dashed when he heard Tony’s voice through the door. He was very loud and very angry.

“Goddammit, Steve! Stop telling me it’s going to be okay!”

A moment of silence, then Steve’s voice, much softer and gentler than Tony’s had been.

“He’s a smart kid, you know that. He wouldn’t get himself into any trouble.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. His dad had so much faith in him, and here he was getting himself stabbed in the street at one in the morning.

“Anything could have happened to him! Anything! God, Steve, what if he...what if somone…” Tony broke down before he could finish his sentence. Hearing his father cry like that...it made Peter feel like the worst fuck-up in the world.

Peter couldn’t take another minute of it. He opened the door and walked into the apartment with his head hung low. He didn’t bother to try to hide the blood stain on his shirt, he knew it was a lost cause. Besides, it was hurting him so bad now he didn’t think he could move his arm at all.

“Oh my God,” Steve said, running up to him before he could take two steps into the room. His eyes were fixed on the dark stain of blood on Peter’s shirt. Tony was frozen in place on the other side of the room, staring at him in disbelief.

“Peter, is that…?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I had a nosebleed?”

Steve reached out and tilted Peter’s head up, forcing him to look him in the eyes. At the sight of his dad’s concerned face, Peter couldn’t help but break down. It was all too much: the pain, the guilt, the weight of hiding his double life, all of it. Tears spilled down his cheeks and his body started to shake. Naturally, that only made the pain in his shoulder worse and he cried out, unable to mask it any longer.

“Oh, Pete…”

“My...my shoulder,” Peter said, “it hurts so bad.”

Steve gently pulled back the sleeve of Peter’s shirt to reveal the wound underneath. It wasn’t very wide, but it was deep enough that a tendon was visible. Steve looked at it for a moment, his face completely stoic.

“Peter, honey, we have to go to the hospital, okay?”

“No!” Peter said, taking a step back, “Please don’t make me go, I just want to stay here.”

Steve sighed and looked back at Tony, who was staring at the wound in Peter’s shoulder with a dark, angry expression on his face.

“Who did this to you?” Tony asked in a low voice, his eyes still focused on the wound.

Peter hesitated for a moment, and then decided that he was sick of making up fake stories and lying to his parents about where he’d been. It was time to finally come clean.

“I have to tell you something,” he started, trying to brace himself for their reactions, “I, uh, I got bitten by this spider thing a few months ago and ever since I’ve been able to do weird stuff. Like walk on walls and lift pretty much anything. So I decided to try and use my powers to help people. That’s how I got hurt tonight, trying to help a woman who was getting mugged.”

Peter unzipped his backpack and pulled out his blood stained hoodie and mask, holding it out for his dads to see.

“I’m, um, you know...Spider-Man.”

The words hung in the air for a few moments. Peter braced himself for the yelling and lecturing to start.

“Peter. We’re going to the hospital.” Tony’s voice was shockingly quiet and gentle.

“I really don’t want --” Peter protested.

“Enough. We’re going right now,” Steve said, grabbing the car keys from the kitchen table.

Peter looked back and forth from each of them, trying to understand why they weren’t screaming at him.

“But what about --” he started, but was cut off by Tony.

“Later. We’ll talk about all of this later. After you’re all fixed up.”

Peter nodded, beyond grateful. He was already so overwhelmed, he didn’t think he’d be able to handle having to fully explain himself right now. Besides, his shoulder was hurting so bad now that the hospital didn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Okay,” Peter said quietly, “yeah, okay. The hospital.”

Peter knew that there would be a very long, probably unpleasant conversation about all of this later. But for right now, a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. And that was enough.

[settle-down-frohike]

Late to the game as always!! My submission for @xfpornbattle . I was given an unsexy prompt by @contrivedcoincidences6​, my episode being Excelsis Dei, and I’ll be honest, it was *extremely* hard to feel anything resembling smutty after watching it, but I think that was the point. ;) But! I was able to pull prompts 195(dominant Scully) and 38 (Mulder watched Scully have one-night stands for years before making his move) and try to make something work. I do strongly advise re-watching it before you read if, like me, you haven’t in a while. 

My eternal gratitude to @lepus-arcticus​ for going easy on me and making my first beta experience lovely and pain free! <3 If you see any spelling or grammar mistakes at this point it’s from my latest hurried edit and no reflection on her skills at all.  And thank you to Idris Elba, for being, well, Idris Elba. ;) Tagging @today-in-fic​

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shrinking Violet

R: NC-17 

“I don’t know how to explain it, but it has something to do with those pills.”

An unsubstantiated solution to the substantiated crime. That was her report in a nutshell.

Thanks, Mulder.

She’s spent the last 5 hours turning that crude statement into an official report, and to say she is tired is an understatement. To make matters worse, Mulder seems to be finding any excuse to stay in the office with her. She understands the fact that he was technically her superior, but she doesn’t literally need supervision, for Christ’s sake. He just keeps hovering around her, just outside of her periphery, like a dog circling a dinner table. Rummaging through cabinets, flipping through files, making much ado about absolutely nothing. It’s incredibly annoying, but at this point she doesn’t have the energy to analyze or address it.

She’s been in the same clothes for close to 18 hours now, and just wants her shower and her bed, in that order. She packs her briefcase and watches from the corner of her eye to see if he does the same. He doesn’t even look up. It isn’t until she is halfway out of the door that he even bothers to speak.

“Hey Scully?”

She turns, her escape thwarted,  and regards him with a blank expression, save one raised brow.

“S’good work. This case I mean....I’m glad you pushed it.”

An unexpected wave of rage paralyzes her senses, and for a moment, a rehearsed tirade about his premature dismissal of their victim’s case and its similarities to her own experience plays out in her mind. How it could have so easily been her pleading for someone to validate what her body knows, but what no one can prove-all of the physical evidence that would hold up in a court of law having been erased, her chance at justice stolen, along with a good bit of faith in the system she works for. It lodges in her throat that she’s disappointed in him, maybe for the first time.

She can still hear herself pleading with him to continue to pursue this case, and the memory makes her cringe. Her abduction has her unwillingly humbled, punished for the company she’s chosen to keep, and she hates it. If she’s being punished, she’d might as well commit a crime befitting.  Ahab once grounded her for a month after she came in smelling of cigarettes she hadn’t smoked. It’d felt righteous then, on the roof at 3am, choking on an entire pack of her mother’s Virginia Slims. Bad decisions might as damned well be her own.

She doesn’t know herself anymore. The body in the mirror at home is softer than it used to be, it slouches with memories of invasion and abuse. This body betrays her. It keeps secrets now. It’s frustrating to feel patronized by one’s own mind. She appreciates the work keeping her busy,  and she hoped coming back as quickly as possible would be the first step in feeling whole again. But she’s not anywhere close to restored. Her edges feel tattered and stitched poorly together, and though her reflection may not show it, she’s a Raggedy-Ann version of her former self. She wants her body back, her memories back, and her autonomy back.

To let him know these things would show weakness. So instead, she smiles tightly at the floor and mumbles some platitude about teamwork or partnership and slips out. If she makes it to the garage fast enough, he won’t have time to wrap up this charade, gather his own things, and follow her home. Again. She’d rather him pull the big brother act when he thinks she’s not looking.

----------------------------------------------------

At the third stop light before the freeway, a Holiday Inn sign reads, “$1 MRGRTAS” and the rebel in her smiles. He won’t follow her in here, and if he does, she’ll hopefully be drunk enough to say what’s on her mind.  She’s not ready to be at home alone with those thoughts just yet.

Two hours later, she’s four deep and enjoying her umpteenth cigarette with relish, her nose is pleasantly numb, and her thoughts about her partner are turning maudlin. He’s trying, she reckons. She knows he cares deeply for her. He likes to keep her close, like a lucky rabbit’s foot or some other talisman, rattling around in his pocket with the loose change, carelessly cherished. She remembers a time, not so long ago when she’d been starry-eyed and school-girl smitten with her new partner, with his unexpected good looks and unreachable genius. And for a time, they’d sparked against each other like flint meeting a match. For a time, it’d felt like maybe he’d felt something too. Her disappearance has exposed weakness in them both, she supposes. Her need to push against support instead of leaning into it, and his inability to offer any outright, for fear of not deserving the trust. This thought feels like something resembling forgiveness, and, her anger having dissipated, she’s thinking seriously about paying her tab and calling a taxi. At that moment, an impossibly rich baritone asks if the seat next to her is taken.

The accent is British, and his suit is expensive. He fits in here about as well as she does. He orders Glenlivet, neat. The tequila has her feeling loose limbed and mischievous, so after a few moments of quiet companionship, she slips off her jacket to reveal the pale blue silk shell underneath, just to see what might happen. Her newer, larger breasts stretch against the fine fabric, and if the sensation is unfamiliar and discomfiting, his side glance is not. She swallows any lingering traces of self doubt down with a swish of salt and cheap mix. The game is afoot, and the rush of adrenaline to her brain at her prowess is euphoric. She wants more of this kind of puissance, achieved cheaply, but effective nonetheless.  

“You’re not singing tonight?” He nods towards the empty stage, floating lights and karaoke machine at the corner of the bar, unused, thankfully.  

“Not tonight,” she smiles into her plastic tumbler, “too much competition.” His resulting chuckle is deep and dizzying.

Afoot, indeed.

She turns her head and is met with a very handsome smile with a face to match, basset-hound eyes and skin the color of strong espresso. His beard is well kept, and only serves to highlight his strong jawline, and sumptuous mouth.  The closely tailored suit is doing nothing to hide the brutish build underneath. But he carries it with such elegance.  He is fist-bitingly sexy. His handshake is gentle and warm, his name is Miles. There’s a bewitching hint of grey at his temples, and she is suddenly swooning, and damning everything all to hell.

She can’t honestly believe she hears herself ask if he is here alone, but the words come from someone that sounds a lot like her.  He nods, and says he’s there ‘on conference’, the way that well-to-do Brits must put it, and the rest of his associates are at the Four Seasons.

“I’m set to give a lecture come morning, and tonight... I  just needed a bit of breathing room.”

“Pressures at work?” She asks. He nods and releases a puff of smoke from one of her borrowed cigarettes.

“Comes with the terri’try, I suppose. I’m the head of my department at university. I’m expected to have allll the answers,” he cracks, with a wide sweep of his arm.

She chuffs. “That’s interesting. Lately I feel like I have no answers, only questions. But I think I understand.”

Their eyes meet again, and the air around them is suddenly charged. Not sexual, really, but a kind of understanding, a kinship being formed, and she’s now more drawn to him than ever. She feels brazenly without filter.

“Do men like you, with answers, I mean, does that power ever become a burden?”

“It absolutely does. Yes.”

She surveys the room, nodding. “Well I can assure you, Miles. Being without them can weigh on you just as well.”

He’s watching her still, even as she refuses to return his gaze.

“Can I help?”

That catches her attention. His eyes are crinkled with scrutiny, but  something else, something familiar radiates behind the humor. Ah, yes. She recognizes it now. Need. Naked and thinly veiled behind his offer.

“Yes,” she answers, with a Mona Lisa smile, “yes, I think maybe you can.”    He gracefully signals the barkeep, and she stands to gather her jacket and purse.  

-------------------------------------------------

She shivers visibly as he closes the door to his room, and she chalks it up to the ancient overactive air conditioner by the window and not her nerves. Like the gentlemen she expects him to be, though, he adjusts the setting before relieving himself of his own jacket, and walks to stand before her. But God he is striking, and mysterious and reserved in a way that intimidates and in turn, arouses her. And something about the scent of the cheap furnishings and the last traces of his expensive cologne is intoxicating in an illicit, tawdry sort of way. This feels like an affair. This stranger’s body she’s been inhabiting for the last few months now is behaving like the old Dana would, unmercifully enraptured by an older, powerful man.  

“Tell me what I can do,” he says gently, and she’s swept up on a wave of supremecy.  

“Take off your clothes,” she orders, softly but firmly, as she begins to relieve herself of her own, “and get on your knees.” His eyes flash brightly and he obeys, an eager supplicant. The slightest sway of her pelvis toward his mouth is all the command he needs, and his tongue snakes between her thighs, smoothly traces her outer folds, seeking entrance. She presses her hand to the back of his head and he growls into her in response. She can see him growing long and thick and hard between his legs, purely on the taste of her. Her voice is husky with want, and the air is saturated with pheromones.

“Make me come.” 

And he does. Using long, deft fingers and a dexterous tongue he suckles and strokes with perfect pressure, an even rhythm, until the one leg she has thrown over his broad back becomes two, and she’s lying back on the bed, watching herself thrash and moan from far, far above her body, this dark god of a man at her mercy.

He laps at her gently, bringing her down from orgasm with incredible tenderness. His beard is soaked and glistening when he looks up, and she decides she’s not done with him yet. 

“Lie on the bed, now.”

He rises wordlessly, licks his lips, and nods. When he settles, fully prostrate, she rises and stands next to the bed, admiring his form. Every inch of him is perfection. She wants to bite at his pebbled nipples, suckle at his mouth, capture the straining tendons at his neck between her teeth. He’s visibly, if willfully, tortured, and true power is not without mercy.

If she were to straddle and face him, it would feel too intimate. Neither want connection, they want distraction. She wants to use him and he wants to be used. So she turns back and watches herself sink down, slowly, onto his dusky length in the dresser mirror. The woman before her is dominant, formidable, and she’s aching to come again. Her fingers slide down between her breasts, over her mons and past her clitoris, fully engorged, stiff and eager.  She finds their bodies’ joining, finds where he enters and his slick girth spreads her open, impaling her as she rises and falls. Her slick, shining fingers reach her mouth and taste their sex, rich and biting. He’s watching her reflection with wide, worshipful eyes. Dipping lower, her fingernails graze the tender underside of his sack, and the muscles in his legs rippling in anticipation, like a thoroughbred at the gate. He thrusts unconsciously and groans helplessly, “God!” and the succubus in her takes over. She growls, “Don’t you dare fucking move,” and starts to work herself ruthlessly, grinding him down and deep against her cervix, the sensation acute and exquisitely painful, over and over again. Her eyes never leave her reflection, even as she is open-mouthed and howling, her second orgasm consuming her like a brushfire.  His own climax registers somewhere in the distance.  

-------------------------------------------------------------

Her legs are trembling with exertion, an unnamed emotion bubbling it’s way to the surface. She collapses forward, sobbing, as a pair of warm, strong arms envelope her from behind.

“You are incredible,” he whispers, breathless, “a goddess. Now come here.” His commanding tone is softened by English r’s. The fight in her has gone, but he takes no advantage. He tucks her next to him under the thin comforter and tells her sternly, “Give yourself time to heal, girl. You have all the power you seek. Wield it as you wish. You have nothing to prove to anyone but yourself.” The last thing she thinks is how, in this moment, she does feel very much like a girl, newborn and guiltless and so very, very afraid again of what she does not know. What her mind won’t let her remember. For now though, she lets his warmth and his brawn shield her against the demons that beckon.

Come morning, on the pillow next to her, a vibrant, freshly picked violet is all that remains of him.

---------------------------------------------------------------

A disheveled man sits in a parked car across the street from the Holiday Inn, two days worth of stubble coating his cheeks, eyes red-rimmed and shifty. His body shakes, the indignant fury he felt previously now exhausted into fumes of guilt as he watches her come through the sliding doors, out to her car, and follows it as it drives away. She’s safe at least. She’s alive. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

[nalufever]

A Solidly Constructed Kiss

Many, many thanks to @fic-writer-appreciation for organizing the summer gift fic exchange. My fic is for @tuxiedjabberwock ~ I hope you enjoy! 

Summary: High School AU ~ Erza strong-arms Lucy and Natsu into working the Kissing Booth to raise funds for a school trip. Lucy's never been kissed and Natsu acts like he's never entertained even the idea of kissing another person. Things naturally come to a head when Lucy and Natsu are given the task to build the actual booth. Will they fight over construction or build themselves some kind of relationship? Read and find out ;P Rated:  teen. (2770 words)

Erza smiled sweetly and held onto Lucy's hand with an iron grip. "The student council already agreed you would be one of the female additions to our fundraising activity."

"Why me? I have too many other obligations." Lucy shook her head and failed to remove herself from Erza's hold. "I'm practicing for the debate team that night!"

"You can practice before or after. Just show up at the kissing booth."

"I wouldn't be good at it, I haven't had my first real kiss!" Lucy looked down and away, unwilling to meet the student council's president's eyes. "…you were talking about debating, weren't you?"

"Excellent! We can add novice kisser to the posters to drum up interest." Erza grinned and released Lucy's hand. "I wonder if Natsu is any better equipped to man the kissing booth?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Of course not. You've never had a boyfriend, never dated, not ever had one chance to kiss." Erza ticked off each point on her fingers and continued mortifying her friend. "You're pretty but your dad's reputation scares off all interest in you, doesn't it?"

"…"

"Well, it's only a two-hour shift and after that, you and your tested lips will be free to go." Erza rummaged in her book bag, withdrew a ledger and scribbled notes. "Remember, it's for a good cause."

Some of her smarts making a comeback, Lucy looked perplexed at the student council president. "We're raising money for our class trip, not for charity."

"You must be magic at the debates." Erza nodded with a wide smile on her face. "Thanks for proving my point; our class trip is the greatest of causes. Three days and two nights of semi-supervised fun in the big city!"

"Fine." Lucy rubbed her forehead. "I never had a choice anyway, did I?"

"Excellent! I also put you down for construction. I'll send Natsu over to you with the schematics of the booth and you two can get building it straight away." Erza nodded, pivoted and strode with confidence, away from Lucy's mumbled complaints.

><><><><

Natsu found Lucy hunched over a book in the library. He tapped her shoulder twice and failing to get a response, he cleared his throat. "You ready?"

"How'd Erza rope you into this?" Lucy sighed, bookmarking her place. "She could have gotten any of the woodworking students to make the structure. Laki loves that sort of thing! Why would she need us to do this?"

"I volunteered!" Natsu grinned affably. "And all the woodworking students are already busy with fixing the old booths and working on projects. Laki is super busy - so I told Erza we could do it together."

Distracted by her own special thoughts of 'doing it together,' Lucy stared blankly at Natsu.

"Eyes up here!" Natsu waved the work instructions. "We can pick up what we need from Shop class and get most of it done tonight."

"Wha? Okay." Lucy shook her head and blinked rapidly. "This is going to be more fun than working the booth."

"Oh, I don't know. You haven't seen how handy-challenged I am. And at least during the festival we get to people watch." Natsu admitted his less than stellar workman abilities with a giant smile. "It's only two hours and like Erza says, it's for a worthy cause."

"Not you too! The whole point of the booth is to raise money for the class trip, not charity." Lucy shuffled her homework papers, took her book and stuffed both of them into her satchel.

"Having fun is a pretty good cause," Natsu spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. "But would it make you feel better if we donated any extra over our goal to an actual charity? I bet more people would shell out the big bucks if they knew they were supporting both."

"I don't want to get Erza upset."

”Heh! Only someone suicidal would, but it must be important to you, so we should at least try. I'll mention the idea to Gray and he can bring it up at the next student council meeting." Natsu led the way out of the library and towards the Wood Shop classroom. After a few minutes of Lucy struggling to carry her heavy satchel, he tugged her sleeve to make her stop. "Do you need all that stuff? Can't you dump it in your locker?"

"Um, no." Lucy bit her lip and shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I finished my homework, but I need to study every night. If I don't get straight As my father …" She trailed off, breaking eye contact with Natsu. "Anyways, he wouldn't be happy."

"Give it to me then." Natsu didn't wait for Lucy to answer, taking the school bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "I'm good at carrying things at least." He started walking again, cheerfully whistling.

Bemused, Lucy scurried to follow. Even if Natsu had never been romantically linked with anyone in school, it seemed he was capable of gentlemanly behaviour. "Tell me why you agreed to help make the booth when by your own admission you're not that good with construction." Lucy flinched. Way to sound like a controlling harpy. "I mean, I'm curious about that."

"Easy answer! Cana told me I'd learn a thing or two if I did."

"I'm not that experienced with hammer, saw and wood either." Lucy scratched her head. "But I'm excellent at reading and following directions. Maybe this won't be so hard."

Natsu agreed, "Ya, we can figure it out together."

Lucy got lost in a small personal fantasy - Natsu had such a nice smile. She pressed her lips into a straight line. Time to focus! No time to daydream.

Inside the Wood Shop classroom, they found a beehive of activity. Elfman, Lahar, Mest, and Vjeter worked on with various projects while Laki ran back and forth helping each of them in turn.

Carefully Lucy and Natsu made a pile of the framing lumber and plywood, checking and re-checking the instructions. The regular shop students worked, shouting at one another casually. An alarm sounded from Laki's wristwatch. As one, all the students stopped working. They turned off their equipment and cleaned their messes - exiting one after the other.

Surprised, Lucy jogged over to Laki who was evidently also leaving. "Hey! Is anyone staying who could help me and Natsu?"

"Ooh, shouldn't think so. We've got time during class for this, today was just a bit of extra time before my date with Max." Laki grinned, tugging Lucy closer to the door, further from Natsu. "You dating Natsu?"

Lucy sputtered, "W-what, what, what? Why would you even think that?"

"My bad." Laki did not look sorry. "All you have to do is lock the door behind you once you guys finish whatever you can. I'll have a few students work on the rest of it tomorrow."

"Erza seemed to want us to do all the work."

Laki shrugged. "If you want, but are you really prepared to stay for hours and hours?" Another softer alarm sounded. Laki smiled and silenced it. "I'm leaving. Work safe!"

Lucy turned around, the whole room was empty save for her and Natsu.

"C'mon Luce!" Natsu waved the instructions. "I need you! We gotta measure and cut the frame first."

"Coming!" The imp inside of Lucy's brain giggled. 'That's what she said.'

The shop room echoed without extra voices and the noise of saws.

Lucy giggled. She couldn't help it. Natsu had managed to tangle the measuring tape - again. Holding out her hand she requested its return. "I'm gonna have to demote you." Shaking her head, Lucy held the end hook securely against the end of the two by four that was their first planned cut - and then grabbed Natsu's hand and moved it into place. "You get to be the anchor." Lucy extended the tape measure and marked off four spots. "We'll check it twice and then cut."

"Won't that take longer?"

"Yes and no." Lucy explained, "If both marks are at the same point, I've got them in the right spot - but if they aren't, then we look to see where we made a mistake. It's all about checking and double checking before we do something we can't fix."

"Y'mean kinda like, 'least said, soonest mended'?" Natsu gave Lucy an earnest look. "Or if I'm punching Gray as hard as he deserves, but if Erza is about to show up, we pretend I wasn't kicking his ass?"

"More like the first example, but yeah." Lucy nodded. "Or like how a pound of 'cure' is worth the ounce of 'prevention.' If we don't make mistakes, we don't have to rip apart our work."

"Hmm." Natsu shrugged and held the end of the measure against the end of the board. "Then let's double-check our work."

"Okay!"

Lucy and Natsu measured all the cuts listed in the instructions twice and then began cutting. Never one to shrink away from new tasks, Lucy took command of the saw. Without complaint, Natsu held the other end still and encouraged Lucy. Alternating chores, they finished sawing quicker than anticipated.

"What's next?"

Lucy flexed her hands, they were a little sore. Picking up the blueprints, she scanned the information. "We can cut the plywood next."

"Ugh. Measuring and cutting is boring. What about starting to assemble?"

"We can't put together pieces that aren't ready."

Natsu looked at the much larger than expected pile of cut pieces. "But we're not gonna make any progress if we don't start assembling."

Blueprints still within her grasp, Lucy settled her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. "You may have a point. This isn't a puzzle, so, sure, let's get the frame done and then do the rest of the cuts."

"Huh. Cana was wrong about you." Natsu confided, "She said you wouldn't be open to changing plans."

"…" Lucy nodded jerkily. A lot of the fun of this experience had gone out for her right there. Most of her schoolmates didn't really know her, so it was easy to shrug off the popular misconceptions. But - in this short work project, it had felt like she and Natsu had started to become friends.

"She says a lot of dumb stuff, things that only make sense way later, but I think this time she was wrong." Natsu continued speaking, all without noticing how stiff Lucy had become. "You're a good student, I knew that from the posted grades - but you're an even harder worker than I guessed. I bet I could learn a lot from you." Finally noticing Lucy's rigidness, Natsu put down his hammer and the nails he'd been holding ready. "What?"

"…" Lucy looked down and away. This was her standard response to every awkward situation. She flinched as Natsu tentatively touched her shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

Lucy bit her lip and steeled herself. She could face him. Not everything he'd said had been hurtful. Matter of fact, after the first bits, Natsu had sounded like he admired her - which was weird. "More than what we both have time to deal with." Forcing a laugh, Lucy looked into Natsu's eyes. That was a mistake. They were concerned, not condemning. "At first I thought you were saying I was stuck-up."

Natsu frowned and shook his head.

His confusion egged Lucy into saying more. "I've heard that time and time again. People think that I think I'm too smart and won't follow anyone else's advice."

"D'uh! Of course, you're smart! We all can see the posted grades!" Natsu smiled - and it was his smile that convinced Lucy he wasn't being cruel.

"I'm sorry. I'm used to most people getting defensive. I don't know how to react when people are sharing honestly." Lucy picked up a hammer and then a nail. "Why don't we start putting this together like you suggested?"

"That's a good plan, even if it's mine." Natsu laughed and Lucy relaxed.

An hour later, very pleased with their accomplishments, Natsu and Lucy tidied their mess. They swept and dumped the sawdust into the dustbin, hung the hammers and saw back onto the peg-board, and put the nails away.

"This was … an experience." Lucy smiled at Natsu. "I’m glad we got to work with each other."

"I had fun," said Natsu, "and I think you did too."

"Fun isn't usually one of my goals," Lucy admitted, "I have to keep my grades up so my father doesn't freak. Fun doesn't rate high on his list of things to do."

"Pity." Natsu picked up Lucy's schoolbag. "I understand about keeping a parental figure quiet, but y'know we're only young once. Fun shouldn't be forgotten."

"I have some fun. I take dance lessons every Thursday."

”Oh, ya got me there." Natsu's tone did not agree with his words. His voice picked up some pep as he continued speaking. "Pfft. I'm talkin' stuff your dad doesn't approve of kind of fun! The fun that is spur of the moment - somethin' you can't believe you had the nerve to do right after ya do it!"

Hardly able to wrap her brain around calling her father, 'dad,' Lucy stood lost in thought. Natsu had made a lot of good points. Fun was a commodity she hadn't experienced enough. "Will you be mad if I take your advice?"

"Naw, I'd be proud. I bet people wouldn't believe me if I told them the Lucy Heartfilia had taken advice from me." Natsu smiled.

"Remember, you can't get mad." Lucy bit her lip and giggled softly. "I suppose I could apologize ahead of time. You sure?"

"You look like you need fun."

Taking all Natsu's words to heart, Lucy gathered her courage. Heart beating wildly, she moved in front of Natsu. "May I kiss you?"

"Are you joking?"

"Even though your words made me think I could steal a kiss - I respect you too much to do that." Lucy knew her cheeks were climbing way past pink and into tomato red territory, but she wanted to explain herself. "The fun I want is a mutual experience. If I take without your consent, then I'm not respecting your rights. I wouldn't want that for myself so I will not do that to you. I like you. I like you because you're nice to me."

"You're not joking." Natsu blushed. "You're not that good at jumping into fun, but you are so not joking."

"Nope." Lucy swallowed hard. She cursed herself for not thinking harder about how awkward it was going to be after Natsu refused her request because she was too weird. Dammit!

"Okay." Natsu dropped Lucy's books and held her gaze. "You can kiss me - and then… can I kiss you?"

Lucy blinked, knowing her mouth had dropped open. "Huh?"

"I like you too," Natsu spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

"You like me?"

"Yeah." Natsu smiled. "For a long time now, not just on account of today. You didn't treat me like a dummy while we worked on the booth. I know my reputation. Most people think I'm dumber than a box of bricks."

"You sure?" Lucy inched closer to Natsu.

"I'm sure." Natsu inched closer to Lucy. "Everyone in school thinks I'm stupid."

"You know that's not what I meant." Fire flashed in Lucy's eyes. "You like me? The girl everyone in school thinks is stuck-up? Too smart for her own good and so rich she can't understand anyone else?"

"Yeah. The thing is, I know you’re not like that. Not one bit.”

Lucy nodded, an anxious smile on her lips. They'd reached an agreement of sorts - mutual respect with a side of pining. She could do this - it was just a kiss, right? Well, she had permission and the time was ripe. Lucy leaned forward, angled her head slightly, closed her eyes and captured Natsu's lips against her own. Seconds later she pulled back, heart racing like she'd been running a marathon.

Natsu licked his lips, his fingers tracing where Lucy had touched him. This made the sudden experience more real. He slowly reached out; caressing Lucy's jawline, then cupped her chin as he kissed her. It lasted perhaps half a minute and felt like an eternity at the same time.

"Wow." Lucy was aware her response was inane, but Natsu still held her in his arms and the warmth of his body distracted her. "That…was…fun."

"You sound like you need more convincing." Natsu squeezed Lucy and then relaxed his hold. "May I kiss you again?"

"I'd like that." Lucy set her hands on Natsu's shoulders and locked eyes with him. "And then maybe I could kiss you again too?"

"Hells yes."

[frangipanidownunder]

Revealing

Written for @lokisgame in response to an ask about how Scully managed to read fanfic on stake-outs as revealed in a previous story of mine. This is also my final entry to the dialogue only challenge for @txf-fic-chicks. You can read the companion pieces here: Tried and  Tested “Scully, do you want coffee?”

“Real coffee or the granules of dirt that someone puts into the old Nescafe jar at the refreshment station?”

“I was just going to the photocopier, so dirt I guess…”

“Fine. Double dirt please. And Mulder, can you collect my expenses reports? They should all be printed by now.”

“One double dirt with no cream or sugar. One doubly dirty great pile of expenses reports. What are you claiming for here, Scully? Every single pair of hose you’ve ripped in the line of duty, receipts for every lettuce leaf and carrot strip that comprise what you allegedly call lunch, Steristrips for all my boo-boos?”

“Mulder, printing out the report for all your boo-boos would take all year and the paper stock required would decimate the world’s remaining rain forests. This, on the other hand, is a month’s worth of standard X-Files expenses, and if you bothered to do any of your paperwork, Mulder, you would know that.”

“Scully, you know how much I love it when you dot all the Is and cross all those Ts for the team. Your manual dexterity is far superior to mine and I know how much you thrive on logic, rationalism and scientific fact. Expenses reports are nothing if not factual.”

“Really, Mulder? When was the last time you actually read one of these things? This one contains so much of your particular brand of ‘I Want to Believe’ dreaming that I’m pretty certain I could put your name to it and Skinner wouldn’t bat an eyelid.”

“Except that he knows I don’t write them and that would raise suspicions.”

“Well, thanks for the dirt and thanks for the non-input into this magical report where the unicorn accountants will stamp their approval with their rainbow hoofs and get you off the hook from your ridiculous claims by sprinkling fairy dust over the facts. Again. I’ll catch you later, Mulder.”

“Stake-out tonight, Scully. Don’t forget. Wrap up warm, bring your own thermos of real coffee and some quality reading.”

“By quality, I presume you mean something without pictures, Mulder.”

“Ouch, Scully. There’s another boo-boo to add to my collection.”

“So, what are you reading, Mulder?”

“Oh, just some stuff I printed out earlier. You know.”

“No, I don’t know. What stuff?”

“Nothing that would interest you.”

“No? Try me. We’ve got all night.”

“You first. You’ve been engrossed in your medical journal for ages now. Just how much fun can the ‘American Journal of Pathology’ really be? Or is December the Christmas special? Do you get extras like ‘World’s Most Bizarre Autopsies’ or Cause of Death word searches or…”

“Mulder, I’m reading about cutting edge research and technology. That’s pretty absorbing.”

“But you’ve been shifting around in your seat like whatever you’re reading is making you…”

“Making me what, Mulder?”

“Nothing.”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re reading. There doesn’t seem to be any naked skin on the cover, so that’s an improvement.”

“Sometimes, covered skin can be just as sexy, Scully. Don’t you think?”

“I haven’t really given it much thought, Mulder.”

“Because you’re totally engrossed in the latest article on cell injury and repair?”

“Have you been reading this journal too, Mulder?”

“I might subscribe…”

“You subscribe to the AJP?”

“You sound sceptical, Scully.”

“Would you believe me if I said I subscribed to Aliens Today?”

“There is no such journal, Scully. But there is an Aliens Tomorrow. I’ll sign you up if you’re serious. If it means one less quirked brow or roll of the eyes before we go on our next case, it might be worth the $29.95.”

“Last of the big spenders, Mulder. I’m touched. Anyway, there’s no sign of our suspect, yet. Trail mix?”

“Will nobody think of the guinea pigs? Our suspect is probably headed to the Bahamas as we speak. How did we land this gig, Scully?”

“I’d like to think that sometimes Skinner advocates for our mental wellbeing by provisioning cases that are actually restful, in a bizarre kind of way. Just sitting in a car, the two of us, talking, reading a little. Not getting abducted.”

“So it’s like one of those team-building exercises where we’re supposed to communicate, discuss the minutiae of our days, really find out stuff about each other. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Maybe. What do you want to know about me, Mulder? Some secret you think I’ve been holding back?

“Have you been holding back, Scully?”

“Have you?”

“I asked first. I was just wondering if being totally honest with each other would actually be beneficial to our partnership. Workwise, that is.”

“Workwise…I see. And by total honesty, you mean like some kind of truth or dare.”

“If you choose to see it that way. I guess.”

“Mulder, I am always honest with you.”

“Really?”

“Now who’s being sceptical? Yes, I am honest with you.”

“But you see, I’m not sure you’re being totally honest, Scully.”

“Truth or dare, Mulder. Just ask the damned question.”

“Are you really reading an article on cell injury?”

“Dare.”

“Ooh, Scully. I dare you to strip naked and run up and down the street three times.”

“Mulder, aside from the fact that if I do that three times I’m not going to get back to car, I don’t think that we should jeopardise our stake out on a dare like that.”

“So you’ve already reneged on your first dare. Truth, Scully?”

“Ask another question.”

“No. I want you to answer my first question truthfully. Are you reading about cell injury?”

“No, Mulder. I’m not.”

“And…”

“And, it’s my turn to ask you a question. Truth or dare?”

“Scully.”

“Mulder, are you reading Celebrity Skin?” “No.”

“Are you reading something pornographic?”

“Define pornography.”

“I think you know the answer to that better than I do, Mulder.”

“Scully, pornography is usually a selfish perspective – a male perspective. There is an element of distance, where the female, usually, is seen as an object rather than a person, as opposed to...”

“What?”

“Erotica, where the parties involved are willing, consensual and equally fulfilled by the activities.”

“Erotica.”

“Erotica is often seen as a more female oriented genre. It has a softer image than pornography. It seems more acceptable, almost more intellectual, cerebral.”

“Is that right?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Scully.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I found your stories.”

“My what?”

“In amongst your expenses reports. Your erotic stories…”

“They’re not mine.”

“Scully, if there is an agent at the FBI who read ‘Alien’ fan-fiction I think I would have sat with him in the cafeteria on my first day here. Come on. I know it’s you. As I said, there’s no shame. Ripley is a great female character. Why wouldn’t you want to read about her, her adventures, her love life?”

“That’s not what it’s like…I…Mulder, I’m so…I don’t know what to say…I’m embarrassed.”

“Scully, you should know by now that there should be no secrets between us. None.”

“This is hardly a secret. This is just a…”

“A peccadillo?”

“You make it sound sordid, when you put it that way.”

“Scully, there is nothing sordid about sex.”

“Says the man with an obscene Triple X bill. I can’t believe I left that story in the copier. Supposing someone else had got hold of it. How humiliating.”

“Scully, please don’t feel embarrassed. I copied the story. I read it. It was well written, the narrative was strong, the characterisation was spot on.”

“Mulder, it was smut.”

“Yet it was still literary. That’s a skill.”

“It is one of the better ones I’ve read.”

“And how long have you been addicted?”

“It’s not an addiction! It’s a way to…relax. It sort of turns my brain off. Allows me to chill out, forget about the day, the case, the office politics, whatever.”

“I understand, Scully. More than you could ever know.”

“I guess some people drink, some people eat Doritos, some people inject heroin. I read fan fiction. I confess. Do I need the 12 step program?” “I get it, Scully. I really do.”

“But this is me, Mulder. This is the Ice Queen. Mrs Spooky. The professional sceptic. The spy in your ointment. I write the reports, I do the paperwork, I dot the Is, cross the Ts. I am not supposed to have feelings, or emotions, or to do the wrong thing. That’s you. I’m the one who follows the rules. I don’t print out erotic fiction in the office. I don’t read it on stake-outs. What? What’s this?”

“My confession.”

“Your what? I don’t understand. What is this, Mulder?”

“This is what I’ve been reading.”

“Mulder, this is fan fiction. I’ve read this one. It’s widely held…”

“To be the best of its kind in the fandom. I know. It’s great. I’ve read it multiple times. It kills me every single time.” “Are you teasing me?”

“No! I love this shit. It’s the perfect way to escape our work. I mean, I know you think I go home and watch porn or I go swing a baseball bat or shoot some hoops, but you’ll find that I’m more likely to be eye-deep in fan fiction – Alien, Star Trek, Star Wars – have you read the Leia/Han stories? You’d love them.” “Mulder…”

“I know. It’s weird, isn’t it? Me and you. Sharing the same guilty pleasure. Are you crying, Scully?”

“No. Yes.”

“Scully, do you have any other kinks?”

“Mulder.”

“I’m serious. You keep me guessing. I love that about you.”

“Well, I do know how to tie more than one hundred different types of knot. Courtesy of my dad. Does that thrill you?”

“Depends where you’re tying ‘em.”

“And I know how to say fuck you in about twenty different languages. Courtesy of my sister.”

“That might come in useful one day. Any more?”

“I seem to be doing all the revealing here, Mulder. You’re not playing fair.”

“I don’t have any special skills. I’m completely boring. You now know everything about me. Fan fiction and all.”

“Mulder, do you ever wonder where we’ll end up? I mean we can’t spend the rest of our lives reading fan fic on stake outs or hunting ghosts and ghoulies. What do you want? Where do you see yourself in five, ten, twenty years? Do you want the house with the picket fence and the 2.5 kids, do you want to retire and do the UFO talk circuit? Do you ever think about the future?”

“I do.”

“And?”

“Scully…I think that’s our suspect.”