curlyq9393's drabble thread!

[curlyq9393]

Hey y'all!

So, I've been reading & lurking for a long time indeed, but I've only just recently screwed up the courage to join and actually start posting my own writings. Gulp. Anyways, my first project is trying my hand at drabbling (some of them are a bit long, but no more than 500 characters) using this list, though I don't particularly want to do the challenge part. I just like having the prompts as fodder for the drabbles.

I have three beyond these three done already, because this has been something I've been doing just for me, but I didn't want to post all of them at once! I hope they're not totally dreadful, but if they are: feel free to tell me. How else am I going to grow as a writer, amIright?

Well, without further ado, we're off!

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*Note: these three all take place within the same timeframe; I think I made it fairly clear, but I figured I should say so, just in case I didn't!

#48: Pathetic

Fandom/Original: Iron Man 3 (post-movie)

Characters: Pepper Potts, Tony Stark

Pairings: Pepper/Tony

Fetish: Tony, cold

Word count: 500

“I’m back!”

Pepper walked through the front door and dropped her bags on the ground. After a very, very, very long week spent negotiating a start-up between Stark Industries and a London-based company, Pepper was finally home. She was jet-lagged, but she was home.

Home.

Pepper still got a strange, but pleasant, little squirm in her stomach every time she realized that this house, and Tony, and the wobbly but wonderful life they’d built together was just that: a life.

“Tony?”

Something was different today, though. Pepper couldn’t quite put her finger on it, and she began to feel entirely different squrims in her stomach, far less pleasant than the earlier ones. She knew things were okay now, peaceful even, that they were safe, and she didn’t have a concrete reason to be nervous, just because things were quiet—

Oh.

Things were quiet. When were things ever quiet?

“JARVIS?” she called, “where’s Tony?”

“He’s in the bedroom, Miss Potts,” the AI answered. “He’s been sleeping for approximately two hours.”

Sleeping? That was odd, but not unheard of; Tony did keep bizarre hours, but still. Pepper was fairly sure that he knew she’d be home today, and she’d been hoping that he’d want to catch up over dinner and wine.

And later, catch up on some…other things.

She gathered her bags and started up the stairs to their room. She opened the door, and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Tony was, in fact, asleep: a lump underneath the covers. Pepper slipped off her heels and tiptoed over to the bed. She eyed his form fondly for a moment, before easing into bed next to him. “Hey, you,” she murmured, before pressing a gentle kiss to his neck. “Did you miss me?”

Tony’s eyes opened slowly, and he stared blearily at her for a moment. Was he…pale? Yes, he was definitely paler than usual, and his eyes were shadowed. Suddenly, his decidedly pink-tinged nose wrinkled, and he turned his face to the side, “H'isschoo! -- iitsschoo!”

Pepper sat up and t’sked—reproving, but there was affection laced through, too, “You never take care of yourself when I’m away.”

Tony sniffled into his shoulder, and Pepper tried to pretend it was pathetic.

(But actually, it made me seem about nine years old and was totally endearing.)

She sighed. Tony peered at her through rheumy eyes, “I take care of myself,” he grumbled.

Pepper raised her eyebrows, “Oh, really?” she said skeptically.

Tony opened his mouth to retort, but fell to coughing short and hard into his elbow instead. Pepper frowned sympathetically and rubbed absently at his back until he caught his breath. “You were saying?” she teased gently.

Tony exhaled, a crackling sigh, “I’m glad your home,” he said simply.

The honesty of his answer caught Pepper by surprise; they danced around affection, one always keeping the other at arm’s length. But this…Pepper’s throat swelled in a sudden rush of happiness; love, she realized, but instead she just said, “I’ll make you some tea.”

But that, somehow, was more than enough.

#35: Breath

Fandom/Original: Iron Man 3

Characters: Pepper Potts, Tony Stark

Pairings: Pepper/Tony

Fetish: Tony, cold

Word count: 267

The next day, Tony milked Pepper for every last bit of sympathy he could. She was surprisingly indulgent; though Pepper did control and bossing with an almost preternatural ease, mothering was an art-form she’d never quite grasped. There was something endearing, she said, about him when he was under the weather. “At the very least,” she added wryly, “it’s more endearing than a hangover.”

Pepper still insisted on sleeping with Tony, even though he insisted she was going to catch what he had. “I spent a week without you in bed beside me,” she said, gently but firmly. “I’d sleep with you even if you had the plague.”

“Well,” Tony said, “just don’t expect me to handle your tissues when you’re all snotty.”

Pepper rolled her eyes and suppressed a smile. She sat down on the bed and nudged Tony with her foot, “Careful, you,” she warned, “or all of this TLC might just vanish when you least expect it.”

“You know you loHh-HUH'ISCH-- oo! Love me,” he said, sniffling.

Pepper swallowed hard. She ran the back of her hand over Tony’s brow, then his cheeks, “You’re feverish,” she murmured.

Tony looked at her with an expression she couldn’t read, “Yeah,” he said, “okay.”

Pepper flipped the light off and curled up against Tony’s side. He fell asleep almost instantly, but Pepper lay awake for a while. She gazed at Tony and counted each breath as it came; they were congested, but steady.

It was a nice reminder that—in spite of everything they’d been through—Tony would be there when they woke up the next morning.

#78: Shut-Up

Fandom/Original: Iron Man 3 (post-movie)

Characters: Pepper Potts, Tony Stark

Pairings: Pepper/Tony

Fetish: Pepper, cold

Word count: 347

“I told you so.”

“Shut-up.”

“I told you you’d get sick.”

“Shut-up.”

“You just didn’t listen.”

“Anthony Edward Stark—” Pepper began.

“Yikes, middle name,” Tony interrupted, smirking slightly.

Pepper sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, “Tony,” she said, “please, please, please just shuhheht'NGKshht! Shut-up.”

Five days had passed since Pepper had gotten home, and while Tony had recovered from his cold—save a few sniffles—Pepper was in the full throes of a particularly nasty one of her own. Tony, predictably, was not making Pepper’s life any easier; she knew he cared, in his own way, but showing it was a…challenge for him.

Tony leaned up against Pepper’s desk, “You should probably be in bed, Potts. You look all,” he waved a hand in her general direction, “feverish and sniffly.”

Pepper managed to sneeze again, blow her nose, and cough without turning away from her laptop, “I have too much work,” she said.

Tony rolled his eyes, “You always have too much work.”

Pepper glared at him, “I have especially too much work today because I spent most of the last week taking care of you.”

She would’ve held the glare until he broke—because she knew he would—but a sudden, insistent itch her nose meant she broke first. She grabbed a handful of tissues as her breath began to hitch, “ehh-NNGKSHew! h'iihngktsch! ihhTSSCH-mmphhf!”

She blinked, slightly dazed, and tried to shake the pounding ache out of her head. Then there was a sudden warm pressure on her shoulders; Pepper moved her gaze upwards. Tony was looking back at her, and something soft and warm had found its way into his eyes. She really, really liked that. “I’m sorry you’re so down, kid,” he said.

Pepper allowed herself a bleary smile, in spite of it all, “I’m not so down. And anyway,” she sighed, “you did warn me.”

“I did,” Tony agreed, “though I think I may update my warning some.”

“You’re going to take care of me?” Pepper said, placing her hand on her heart in mock disbelief.

Tony shrugged, “You’re kinda cute when you’re all pale and snotty.”

Pepper laughed, “Thank-you,” she said. “I think.”

[Spoo]

Oh, look! A Pepperony pizza. Just what I ordered~

In all seriousness, these are super cute! Very in-character and adorable. I do love me a sick and pathetic Tony. Great start, curlyq!

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

Oh I love these !

[Not_Telling]

Yay another drabble thread! what other fandoms are you thinking of doing?

[curlyq9393]

Thanks, y'all! I have 3 drabbles aside from these ones done: one for Hannibal, one for Bunheads, and one for Sherlock. I love a million different movies & TV shows, so there'll probably be a lot of a lot!

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Awww! Very cute! I can't wait to see what you've got planned for my other main fandom (Sherlock)! And Bunheads: interesting. I'm not sure I've seen any fic for that one here.

[Bruyere]

She was surprisingly indulgent; though Pepper did control and bossing with an almost preternatural ease, mothering was an art-form she’d never quite grasped. There was something endearing, she said, about him when he was under the weather. “At the very least,” she added wryly, “it’s more endearing than a hangover.”

<3 Pepper! These drabbles were so cute. Looking forward to more (yay Hannibal!)

[Garnet]

How cute! I like your style, and definitely looking forward to those other drabbles you mentioned! :q Sounds like we share some of the same fandoms.

[curlyq9393]

Thanks, y'all! Heeeeere's the Sherlock drabble I already had finished:

#53: Blanket

Fandom/Original: Sherlock

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson

Pairings: John/Sherlock (works as slash or friendship, whichever you like to picture best)

Fetish: Sherlock, cold

Word count: 406

“I’m bored.”

“I know.”

Sherlock’s absurd bow of a mouth turned down in a scowl, “You clearly do not know, because you are doing absolutely nothing about it.”

John rolled his eyes, “You’re ill, Sherlock.”

“And?”

“And you need to rest.”

“You are of no authority to make that statement,” Sherlock huffed.

John pinched the bridge of his nose to fight off a burgeoning headache, “Sherlock, for the hundredth time, I am a doctor.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, but his eyes fluttered before he got the chance, and he snapped forward with a forceful, “Heh-hGTSH-iew! Hhh’rishhoooo!”

He uncurled his long, slender fingers from his nose and mouth and sniffed moodily into the sleeve of his dressing gown. John raised his eyebrows, “Would you like some tissues?”

“No,” Sherlock pouted.

John sighed and went back to the paper. Sherlock doesn’t want to be agreeable, John thought. Fine. I don’t care. Not my problem.

The two men sat in silence that was only interrupted by sniffles from Sherlock or the rustle of John’s newspaper. As time went by, Sherlock began to sneeze and cough with increasing frequency. John tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t help but notice Sherlock’s shivering, or how his struggles to find a comfortable position in his armchair.

Finally, John sighed and grabbed a throw from the back of the sofa. He draped it over Sherlock’s legs, and Sherlock looked up, confused. “You’re shivering,” John said.

“BrihhhAhtsch! Tschshh! EckCHOO!” Sherlock sniffed heavily before murmuring, “Brilliant deduction as always, John.”

John’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “I’m going to make tea,” he said. “What kind would you like?”

Sherlock shut his eyes and lolled his head against the cushions of the chair, “Ginger,” he answered, “with lemon.”

John was surprised he hadn’t put up more of an argument; he must’ve really been feeling dreadful. He felt a twang of sympathy, and then he cleared his throat, “Right,” he said, “and then you’re going to have some soup.”

Sherlock's eyes popped back open, and he shot John an affronted look, “I don’t want—,”

“To eat,” John finished. “Yes, I know. Chicken noodle or miso?”

Sherlock glowered at John, and it probably would’ve had much more of an affect had his nose not been bright red or his eyes teary, “Chicken noodle,” he said finally, punctuating the request with a thick-sounding snuffle.

As John began to make his way to the kitchen, Sherlock called him back, “John?”

John turned, “Hm?”

For once, Sherlock’s expression was not piercing, or disdainful, or bored, or a mixture of all three. He looked tired, and maybe even…sincere?”

Sherlock cleared his throat, “Thank-you,” he said, “for all of this.”

John smiled, “I’ll put the kettle on.”

[Spoo]

Awwwwww. I love it when John and Sherlock are domestic (and really, what not a better plot than for someone to be sick? ) Great drabble!

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

Awe Brilliant writing.

[Anonymouse]

I've been on a Tony kick and those Iron Man ones were fabulous! Would love to see more if you planned on doing more drabbles.

This part made me laugh

“Anthony Edward Stark—” Pepper began.

“Yikes, middle name,” Tony interrupted, smirking slightly.

[squealofapproval]

Duuuuuuuuuude

GAH.

Dat Johnlock tho...

[RiversD]

Wow, these are more than lovely. You have a gift, my dear.

Can I say how glad I am that you share it?

[curlyq9393]

So I totally forgot this was a thing...whoops. Anyways, now that it's summer I actually have the time to drabble and whatnot, so yay for that! Here's a Bunhead drabble I already had finished (go here for a synopsis of the show if you aren't familiar). More drabbles are on the way soon!

#37: Chocolate

Fandom/Original: Bunheads

Characters: Michelle Sims, Sasha Torres

Fetish: Michelle, cold

Word Count: 496

Michelle had spent approximately seven hours and forty-five minutes of the eight hours she’d been awake huddled on her sofa with a cold compress pressed to her forehead. And no she was not hungover, thank-you very much, even though she’d gotten nearly a dozen texts, all asking variants of one question that spoke to the contrary.

(Seriously, people, could you give her at least a little credit?)

No, Michelle was sick; a miserable cold had somehow magically found a way to settle in both her sinuses and her chest overnight. Honestly, who caught colds in California in July? Her, apparently. But then, she’d never been one for conventionality.

She was resigning herself to the fact she’d probably have to take up permanent residence on the couch, watching the same Frasier re-runs over and over, when a restrained yet rhythmic knocking on her front door roused her from her stasis. Coming up on an elbow, she croaked, “You’ve reached Michelle. Thanks for knocking, but she’s dying and can’t come to the door right now. Leave a message.”

The door opened a crack, revealing Sasha, her face in full “oh, please” mode, “You are such a drama queen,” she scoffed.

“Takes one to know one,” Michelle shot back, surprised to see her but not unhappy. “What are you doing here?”

Sasha shrugged and stepped fully into the foyer. She was still in her ballet clothes, but she was carrying a mystery basket in one hand, “Just wanted to make sure you were still alive.”

“Ah,” Michelle nodded, “have they been spreading rumors of my untimely demise again?”

Sasha rolled her eyes (how they haven’t rolled out of their sockets yet, Michelle will never know), “Fanny said you were sick.”

“Dying,” Michelle corrected. “I’m dying. I may, in fact, already be dead. Rick Grimes’ll be coming for me any minute now.”

Sasha’s mouth quirked up in a smile, “Can zombies still enjoy chocolate scones?” she asked.

Michelle stared, “You made me scones?”

“I know they’re not exactly sick food,” Sasha said, sounding almost shy. “But I had a feeling you’d enjoy them more than chicken soup or tea.”

“You made me scones?” Michelle repeated.

“Chocolate scones,” Sasha confirmed.

“And you made them? From scratch?”

Sasha rolled her eyes so dramatically they briefly disappeared into the back of her head, “Do you want them or not?”

Michelle opened her mouth to answer, but a look of vague irritation crossed her face. Her eyes fluttered, and she tucked her face into her elbow just in time, “Heshii! Hehh…ehshoo! Kshhhew!”

Sasha abandoned her usual expression of disdain for one of sympathy as she said, “Bless you. You actually do sound pretty bad. Have you taken your temperature?”

The split second pause that followed was long enough for Sasha to figure out the answer on her own, and she said it along with Michelle, “I don’t have a thermometer.”

Michelle laughed, “At least I have scones.”

“Yes,” Sasha said. “There’s always that.”

[curlyq9393]

Soooooooooooo, I realized that I neglected this thread for a long time. Like a real long time. Whoops. But, hey, I'm back! And bearing fics! Hooray.

Do y'all watch The Fall? If you don't, go to Netflix and start watching it immediately. It's incredible. I'm telling you this, one, to spread the word about perfect Netflix series starring lots of rad ladies and, two, because the next three drabbles(? they're kindof long, but oh well), all take place in The Fall's universe. Important details to know: set in Belfast, The Fall is about Metropolitan Police Superintendent Stella Gibson, a senior investigating officer tasked with the reviewing of investigations, is seconded to the Police Service of Northern Ireland in order to assess the progress of a murder investigation that has remained active for longer than 28 days. When it becomes apparent a serial killer is on the loose, local detectives must work with Stella to find and capture Paul Spector, who is attacking young professional women in the city of Belfast.

Gillian Anderson (queen of my heart) plays lead character Stella Gibson, and Archie Panjabi (who is also phenomenal) plays Reed Smith, a pathologist assigned to the case.

Note: everything I know about the way police procedures worked I learned from procedural dramas, so I have literally no real idea how accurate my descriptions are, and I'm super sorry for that. However, I don't know about y'all, but I am very much here for mostly the fluffy gooey stuff. Plot--meh. (I am a writer so I'm a little ashamed of myself for this, but we are who we are).

ANYWAY, I've been babbling for much too long, so here y'all go!

#36: Miserable

Fandom/Original: The Fall

Characters: Stella Gibson, Reed Smith

Pairings: Stella/Reed

Fetish: Stella, cold

Reed truly isn’t sure if she’s ever seen a more miserable looking person in her life. Which is saying something, because she works with the dead.

Stella is closely examining the body that’s lying prone on a stretcher. Reed knows she’ll be called over to consult soon enough, but for the moment she hangs back, and examines Stella. The sky hangs bloated and grey above them. The circles under Stella’s eyes have become so dark that they more closely resembled bruises, as though the metaphorical monster that this case was had become literal, as though it were creeping into Stella’s room each night and battering her as she slept.

Reed closes her eyes and swallows, hard. That particular image hit a bit too close to home.

In a moment of irony more suited to a Henry James novel than the actual world, the heavens choose that moment to open. Stella stares up at the sky, her face totally blank, as though she’d been expecting it.

Reed rushes back to her car for her umbrella, opens it, and then wanders over to Stella. “When it rains,” she murmurs, making room under the umbrella for Stella. Reed feels something like warmth fill her chest when Stella accepts the gesture, and offers her a smile—a tired, but very real smile.

“It does so often seem that way, doesn’t it?” Stella says.

Reed snaps her gloves on. “Another?” she asks, gesturing at the body on the stretcher. Stella nods.

“Do you think--?” Reed asks, not finishing the question. Not needing to. Stella nods again.

Reed hands Stella the umbrella and begins her brief, cursory examination. Everything is there, she almost didn’t even need to look; it was Spector. Of course it was. She feels like she might be sick.

Suddenly, next to her Stella jerks forward with a series of small, tight movements. Reed looks up at her, startled, only to see Stella sigh and pull a tightly clasped hand away from her face. Reed’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Bless you…?” she asks.

Stella sniffles. “Thank-you,” she says quietly.

Reed touches Stella’s arm. “You’re shivering,” she says.

Stella sniffles again, harder. “Yes,” she agrees, absently.

Reed watches as Stella pushes her damp hair out of her face, and gives the instructions to take the body to the morgue. As ever, she is soft-spoken, but firm. It was a fascinating combination, one Reed doesn’t think she’ll ever tire of witnessing.

Then Stella turns back to her. She is pale, drawn. And her grey eyes are so, so exhausted. Reed purses her lips. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s go somewhere warm and dry.”

#33: Cry

Fandom/Original: The Fall

Characters: Stella Gibson, Reed Smith

Pairings: Stella/Reed

Fetish: Stella, cold

They wind up at the station, because of course they do. Stella changed into the spare clothes she always kept in her office, but she still couldn’t seem to stop shivering. God, she feels awful. This wretched case, the last few weeks—it was all beginning to be too much. Everything ached.

She is sitting on the floor of an empty hallway, trying to massage away the beginnings of what is promising to be a spectacularly bad migraine, when Reed appears, carrying two steaming Styrofoam cups.

“Thank-you,” Stella murmurs as she takes the cup Reed offers her. At the first sip, though, she frowns. “This isn’t coffee,” she says.

“No,” Reed confirms, joining Stella on the ground. “Tea.”

Stella scowls at the cup, as though it had done something to personally offend her. “It’s better for you,” Reed says, and Stella can almost hear the suppressed laugh in her voice.

Stella peers into Reed’s cup. “You’re drinking coffee,” she points out.

“I’m also not ill,” Reed says, without missing a beat.

Stella turns her scowl from the cup and onto Reed. “Neither,” she says, “am Ihhh…"Mm'shhh! Heh-mptchh! Mm'shhh!"

The sneezes catch her off guard, but she manages to keep all three tightly bottled. She shakes her head, a bit woozy in the aftermath. “Oh,” she says slowly. “Excuse me.”

The teasing light left Reed’s eyes. “Don’t hold them in like that,” she says. “You’ll make your headache worse.”

“I don’t—”

“You do.”

Stella opens her mouth, intending to continue the argument, but instead her eyes flutter shut and she barely manages to catch a pair of sneezes in her elbow. “--hedht-chissh! – chssh!!!”

Her nose is dripping yet somehow her sinuses are still completely full and pounding which doesn’t even seem possible and she knows she needs to resurface from the crook of her arm but—Christ—she isn’t sure she has the energy. She also doesn’t have tissues, and she’s sniffling like a little girl. She can’t do it anymore. She just can’t.

Suddenly, Stella is aware of Reed’s hand rubbing light circles on her back. That does it. She draws in a shuddering breath, and begins to cry; not sobbing, really, just quiet tears that drip down her cheeks and onto her blouse. Next to her, Reed makes a soft, sympathetic sound, but says nothing. And for that, Stella is grateful.

“I’m so sorry,” Stella says. “I’m alright. Truly. It’s just been a hard day.”

“A hard case, really.”

“Yes,” Stella exhales. “Yes.”

Reed cups Stella’s chin in her hand and guides her face upwards. She places her other hand on Stella’s forehead and frowns. “You’re feverish,” she says.

“Am I?” Stella breathes.

She meets Reed’s gaze. “You know,” she says, “when I was a girl and I felt ill, my mother checked for temperature by kissing my forehead.”

The corners of Reed’s mouth quirk up in a smile. “Oh did she?” she asks. Stella nods.

Before Stella knows what Reed is doing (and perhaps even before Reed knows what Reed is doing), Reed is giving Stella’s forehead a soft kiss. Stella closes her eyes. “What’s the verdict?” she whispers.

“I’d say about 100.8, 100.9,” Reed whispers back, her mouth near Stella’s temple. Stella shivers her agreement.

They break apart. Reed’s face is flushed and her eyes bright with something that is decidedly not a fever. “You should go to your office,” she says, “and sleep for a bit. You aren’t needed right now. And you look like death warmed over.”

Stella has a quip at the ready, something teasing, but she manages only, “Do you have ahhh…a tihhh…tissue?”

Stella presses the top of her hand to her nose as Reed scrambles through her purse for something to offer. She pulls a napkin out and hands it to Stella, and Stella manages to clasp it to her face just as she pitches forward with a tremulous, “--tsssch! hhh… hpt-tsssch! … hep-TSSCH'ooo!”

Stella sighs, and blows her nose as quietly as possible. Reed tucks several locks of blonde hair back behind Stella’s ear. It is an unconscious, motherly gesture, and of all ridiculous things Stella worries it might make her cry all over again. “Go,” Reed says, “and rest.”

And Stella does.

#34: Relief

Fandom/Original: The Fall

Characters: Stella Gibson, Reed Smith

Pairings: Stella/Reed

Fetish: Stella, cold

Or, at least, Stella tries to rest. But her sleep is restless and fractured; she’s had awful, vivid nightmares ever since she was a very young girl, and they always seemed to worsen whenever she was especially exhausted or ill. Or both. She tosses and turns on her cot as her unconscious mind unceasingly slipped her from nightmare into another.

Hands around her neck. Tight, then tighter still. Someone on top of her, their hot, panting, sour breath mingling with her own. They are pulling at her clothes, tearing them. Something is stuffed in her mouth—a pair of underwear. Hers. Wrists are bound. Can’t move, can’t scream—

“Stella? Stella!”

Stella abruptly sits up, her eyes faraway and wild. Her heart is racing. She can’t catch her breath; she tries to count to ten, because that’s what she does, that’s what always works. But her chest is tight and she’s wheezing and she can’t free herself from the fog of the dream and she gets stuck on three, three, three.

Someone’s hands are on her shoulders. A fresh surge of panic surges through her—was it not a dream? has he found her here?—and she goes to yank herself away but then the same voice that woke her says, “Stella, it’s Reed. It’s Reed. I’m here. I’m here, and you’re safe.”

Stella can feel herself begin to return from wherever broken place it is she’d gone. Her heart is still beating quickly, but not racing. Her breaths are shaky, but the wheeze gradually diminishes. She dimly realizes that she’s drenched in sweat, and shivering much harder than she’d been earlier, almost uncontrollably.

“Oh, Stella,” Reed says, and her voice is so gentle and kind that some internal spring releases in Stella, and she begins to cry—not the soft tears of earlier, but great, shaking sobs that come in crashing waves. She would normally be embarrassed, but it’s mostly just a relief, to let go of it all—even for just a few moments.

Reed is rubbing her back again. “Hey, hey,” she says, “you’re okay. It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” Stella manages to choke out, but Reed shushes her.

“You’re not a bit well,” Reed says, and it’s such an understatement that Stella nearly laughs.

Stella’s sobbing eventually slows, then stops, though it leaves her sniffling even worse than before. Reed seems to sense that Stella needs to sneeze before Stella herself even knows it, because suddenly Reed is placing a bouquet of tissues in Stella’s hands. Stella brings them up to her face and catches a pair of heavy sneezes. She’s too tired to be demure anymore, so she blows her nose, hard, and nearly whimpers after. For Christ sake.

Stella lowers the tissues and stares at Reed blearily. Reed pulls her in closer, so that her head is nestled between neck and shoulder. “That must’ve been some nightmare,” she says.

“Mmm,” Stella says. “I have them often. But one never does quite get used to it.”

“No,” Reed says. “I don’t suppose one would.”

Stella coughs into her shoulder, and there’s a dull ache in her chest as she does it. “I feel dreadful,” she finally admits.

Reed smiles into Stella’s hair. “You certainly had me fooled,” she says.

[sapphiremint]

AHHH why have I never read any of these before? Tony I LOVE all the Iron Man 3 ones. Keep up the good work

[Bruyere]

I still haven't got round to watching The Fall but it is definitely on my list and these drabbles have probably bumped it up a few places!

Stella turns her scowl from the cup and onto Reed. “Neither,” she says, “am Ihhh…"Mm'shhh! Heh-mptchh! Mm'shhh!"

The sneezes catch her off guard, but she manages to keep all three tightly bottled. She shakes her head, a bit woozy in the aftermath. “Oh,” she says slowly. “Excuse me.”

I'm such a sucker for that denial that's immediately proved to be a lie.

She meets Reed’s gaze. “You know,” she says, “when I was a girl and I felt ill, my mother checked for temperature by kissing my forehead.”

The corners of Reed’s mouth quirk up in a smile. “Oh did she?” she asks. Stella nods.

Before Stella knows what Reed is doing (and perhaps even before Reed knows what Reed is doing), Reed is giving Stella’s forehead a soft kiss. Stella closes her eyes. “What’s the verdict?” she whispers.

“I’d say about 100.8, 100.9,” Reed whispers back, her mouth near Stella’s temple. Stella shivers her agreement.

Oh god. Can I put in a request for this next time I'm ill?

I really liked the feeling of intimacy between these two throughout the drabbles. I get the impression that Stella is, or has to be because of her job, a hardass, so seeing her while she's ill and vulnerable being cared for by Reed was lovely.

[curlyq9393]

Hi friends! I randomly got inspired to write this yesterday as I thought about zakandsara's fic "Experience" and how much I love the headcanon of Stella having super loud sneezes, so here you go!

#22: Embarrassment

Fandom/Original: BBC’s The Fall

Characters: Stella Gibson, Reed Smith

Pairings: Stella/Reed

Fetish: Stella, unexplained cause

“It’s a bit dead tonight.”

Reed looks up from her desk and raises her eyebrows. “Was that a joke?”

“Maybe,” Stella says, without looking up from the medical journal she’s reading, as she lies languidly on Reed’s office sofa. “But it is a mortuary.”

“Ah,” Reed says, mouth twitching. “Gallows humor.”

Stella smirks. “My favorite sort.”

Reed smiles to herself and goes back to examining photos of a corpse and filling out the details of a long overdue report. The scratch of her pen and the occasional rustle of Stella’s magazine pages are the only sounds in the soft quiet of the office. On other nights, nights where she’s alone, the quiet is disconcerting, oppressive. But tonight, Stella is here. So it’s just soothing, and Reed is grateful.

“Hehh'tSHHHeOOO!!!”

Reed jumps nearly a foot in the air and scatters her photographs all over the ground. Her heart pounding, Reed looks wildly around until her gaze lands on Stella, who’s now sitting up and looks nearly as surprised as Reed herself is. She opens her mouth, as if to speak, but then her eyes flutter closed and she brings her wrist up under her nose. “Heh'IKtschhOO!!”

“Bless—” Reed begins, as her heart slows, but Stella shakes her head and fans a hand in front of her face urgently. Her breath hitches and catches erratically for several long seconds, and Reed finds it oddly intriguing, almost…arousing? No. Except—but no. Absolutely not.

Reed flicks on the overhead lights, walks over to Stella, and guides her face upwards. “Look,” Reed commands.

Stella obeys, and the trick works almost immediately. “Hehhh...he'EEEEshtchhhOOO!!!” She bends completely double from the force of it, and when she straightens up again she’s sniffling and her hair is mussed and her cheeks are flaming. “Excuse me,” Stella murmurs, running a finger under her nose. “I have no idea where those came from.”

Reed is so wholly smitten with Stella and there’s still a bit of adrenaline coursing through her and suddenly she’s laughing so hard that she can’t breathe. “What…the fuck…were those?” she gasps, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Stella looks affronted. “I sneezed,” she says.

“I noticed,” Reed says, trying to hold back her giggles and failing spectacularly. “They’re so loud!”

Stella scowls. “I am well aware of that,” she says icily. “Thank-you very much for pointing it out, though. I do so appreciate it.”

Reed sobers up immediately at Stella’s tone change. “I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it. “I wasn’t trying to tease you—” Stella shoots her a wounded, disbelieving look, and Reed regroups, “well, okay, I was teasing you, but I didn’t intend to hurt your feelings. I didn’t realize it was something you’re self-conscious about.”

Stella affects a bored expression and examines her nails. “I’m not self-conscious,” she says coolly.

Reed rolls her eyes. “Right,” she says. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Stella purses her lips. “I’m not self-conscious,” she insists. Reed offers up her own disbelieving glance, and Stella sighs. “They do…demand a lot of attention,” she finally allows.

“And you’re so soft-spoken otherwise,” Reed muses, and Stella nods.

“Precisely,” she says.

Reed sits down next to Stella on the couch and wraps an arm around her. “Luckily, I happen to rather like both you and your ridiculous sneezes,” she says.

Stella leans into the touch and tucks her head under Reed’s jaw. “Mmm,” she murmurs. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart,” Reed says, and kisses Stella on the tip of her nose. When she wrinkles it, Reed gasps and dams it with her pointer finger. “Don’t you dare,” she says.

Stella grins wickedly. “Be careful,” she whispers. “I’m quite sensitive.”

“Would you like to test that theory?” Reed breathes.

Stella nuzzles into the lovely lines of Reed’s jaw. “More than anything, darling,” she says. “More than anything.”

[zakandsara]

Oh. My. God. I almost don't have any more words to say right now, except that I NEED to tell you your writing (and not just the fetishy stuff) is absolutely lovely and some of my favorite on the forum. And the fact that your subjects are ALSO my absolute favorites? This has turned me into a puddle. More more more more forever. You'll always have an extremely appreciative reader in me. <3

[curlyq9393]

A new drabble! And it's X-Files! Hooray!

#28: Assignment

Fandom/Original: The X-Files

Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully

Pairings: Implied msr, but this takes place during season one, so they aren’t quite there yet

Fetish: Scully, allergies

Scully’s been assigned to him for a few months now, but Mulder still isn’t quite sure what to make of her.

This is unusual, because he likes to think of himself as a better people reader than most (trained profiler and all), but Scully proves to be a challenge. She’s driven and skeptical (which is why they wound up together in the first place), but her smile is genuine and her laugh—when it comes—is surprisingly loose and free. Her sense of humor is so dry and sarcastic that her jokes are easy to miss, but he trains himself to catch them; she’s funny. Really funny. She’s honest and obedient, but still not afraid to bend the rules for something she believes in. She’s a wonderful, gigantic mess of contradictions, all trapped inside her tiny five-foot-two frame, and—ironically—her unknowable-ness is the first item he adds to the List of Things He Knows about Dana Scully.

Hard to read. Loves Mad About You. Hates E.R.; thinks it’s unrealistic and soapy. Favorite movie as a kid was The Exorcist. Nicknamed Starbuck. Loves the ocean. Favorite celestial body is the moon. Favorite books as a kid were Harriet the Spy and A Wrinkle in Time. Favorite book now is Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Self-conscious about her height and her freckles. Catholic. Loves reptiles. Hates cats. Unsuccessfully tried to dye her hair brown on numerous occasions. Seems like an oldest child but is actually second youngest. Hates her older brother, is closest with her older sister, and is fiercely protective of her younger brother. Fears disappointing people more than anything else.

(It starts out as a mental compilation but eventually makes it onto a sheet of paper that becomes several sheets of paper and he locks all of it in the drawer where he keeps everything top secret because the absolute last thing he needs is for Scully to know the list exists.)

Sometime towards the middle of April, Scully comes into their basement office with a bright red nose and streaming, exhausted eyes. She has a well-used tissue clasped in one hand and a box of tissues tucked under her arm. She says nothing, and she doesn’t need to; spring in D.C. can be an absolute hell for allergies. Mulder thinks about commenting, asking how she feels, but her silence functions as an unspoken but very loud shut-up, Mulder. So he shuts up.

But after eighteen sneezes in just a little over an hour (not that Mulder is keeping track or anything), he feels compelled to say, “Bless you, Scully. You doing okay?”

She wipes her nose delicately on a tissue (Just blow it, Scully, he wants to say. Don’t be embarrassed.), and says, “Fine, thanks.” Her consonants are dull with congestion though, and her tone weary. He wonders if she got even an hour of uninterrupted sleep last night.

They aren’t out in the field at all during the day, thankfully; there’s just a lot of paperwork, and meetings. During one particularly tiresome one, Scully inhales sharply from her seat next to him and stifles an alarming number of sneezes into total silence. “You’re going to blow your eardrums out if you keep that up,” he murmurs to her.

She draws in a shuddering breath and offers him a red-rimmed glare. “What other choice do I hahh—h’ngxt! Ngxt! Hhh’ihngsh! Have?” she asks, sniffling.

Scully makes it through the whole day without complaining a single time; without even so much as mentioning her hay fever. She heads out a bit before he does, and she pauses at the door before she leaves. “Bye, Mulder,” she says, her voice rising on the last syllable, then stifles a pair of sneezes in her wrist.

“See you, Scully,” he says, and pauses before he adds, “take care of yourself, okay?”

She sighs and she’s not smiling, but he swears her expression is more affectionate than annoyed. “I will,” she says. “Promise.”

Right before he goes home for the night, too, Mulder takes out his list and adds a few more things.

Horrible hay fever. Tough as nails.

[Bruyere]

But after eighteen sneezes in just a little over an hour (not that Mulder is keeping track or anything), he feels compelled to say, “Bless you, Scully. You doing okay?”

She wipes her nose delicately on a tissue (Just blow it, Scully, he wants to say. Don’t be embarrassed.), and says, “Fine, thanks.” Her consonants are dull with congestion though, and her tone weary. He wonders if she got even an hour of uninterrupted sleep last night.

I love the way you write these two! this was lovely.

Reed is so wholly smitten with Stella and there’s still a bit of adrenaline coursing through her and suddenly she’s laughing so hard that she can’t breathe. “What…the fuck…were those?” she gasps, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Stella looks affronted. “I sneezed,” she says.

I am torn between being amused and feeling bad for her! Poor Stella. Although she does have Reed there to comfort her so i don't feel that bad for her

[zakandsara]

Baby Mulder and Scully! His adoration for her! Her badassness! Allergies! Swoon.

[curlyq9393]

Hi friends! Just a quick lil' update; I'm super tired tonight and didn't really have it in me to do much writing, but I got one drabble done, which is something, right? Right.

#67: Raincoat

Fandom/Original: The X-Files

Characters: Dana Scully, Fox Mulder

Pairings: as ever, implied msr. They are end game, folks. Don’t tell me any different or else I’ll fight you.

Fetish: Scully, cold (or, specifically, from the cold/getting a cold)

“I can’t believe you forgot your raincoat.”

“Shut-up, Mulder.”

“When have you ever forgotten your coat? I don’t think you’ve been seen in public without it since sometime in mid-1993.”

Scully scowls, as much at her own forgetfulness as Mulder. “I didn’t mean to forget it,” she insists, a small shiver wracking through her. “You threw this trip at me completely last minute, Mulder. It’s lucky I even remembered to pack my underwear.”

Mulder waggles his eyebrows. “Underwear?” he asked, with a teasingly exaggerated leer. “Color? Kind? Do tell, Scully.”

Scully swats his arm and resists the urge to move closer to him and his body heat under their shared umbrella. She shivers again as icy droplets of water fall from her hair and slide down her back. Her nose is beginning to run, and she swipes at it irritably, patting her pockets down, searching for tissues. None to be found. “Great,” she grumbles with a moody little sniffle.

Mulder dangles a cheery red handkerchief in front of her face. “Need something?” he asks, but Scully ignores both Mulder and his hanky, choosing to use the cuff of her blazer instead. Suddenly, a hazy, unfocused look passes over her face; her forehead scrunches up, her nose twitches a few times, and then she snaps forward with a tremulous, “Heh'IKtschhOO! ‘Tschoo!”

Mulder waves the handkerchief at her again, and she grabs it from him, mumbling her thanks as she blows her nose. She goes to lower it, but then pauses, hands and hanky hovering uncertainly a few inches from her nose. Her eyes slide close and she quickly brings the handkerchief back up again, bending at the waist with four more tired and heavy sounding sneezes.

“Bless you!” Mulder exclaims, worry clouding his eyes. “You catching a cold there, Scully?”

“No,” she says grumpily, congestion turning the n into a d. Mulder bites back a smile. “I’m just cold. And wet.”

“Well,” Mulder says, nudging her with his elbow, “whose fault is that?”

Scully huffs a sigh that turns into a series of coughs that she catches in her elbow. “I’m fine, Mulder,” she croaks when she’s done, not meeting his eyes.

As they’re getting ready to walk back to the car, Scully still sniffling occasionally into the red handkerchief, Mulder slowly takes off his own coat. Too chilled and weary to really be paying attention, Scully starts when she feels something drape over her shoulders. She looks questioningly at Mulder, who is now coatless, and she realizes that’s because it’s around her now.

“Lucky for you,” Mulder says, “I always come prepared.”

[zakandsara]

Yes yes yes yes yes. You just GET msr like no other.