#they've been occupying my brain for the past week

[mayomkun]

We'll carry on 🔍

[elwenyere]

I have a prompt for you! Stevetony + trapped in an elevator after they've been avoiding each other, please? thank you, I love your fics <3

Thank you so much, Anons! I got two fantastic prompts that were too tasty to keep apart: “Stevetony + trapped in an elevator after they've been avoiding each other” and “stevetony friends with benefits + pining? ‘we're friends who make out who don't make out with other people?’ :D.” In fact, my brain liked putting these two prompts together so much that the resulting ficlet grew into a full fic. Thank you so much for the prompts, and I hope you enjoy!

Out of Order

Stony, 4.3k words, FWB + pining + idiots in love + trapped in an elevator

Elevator Access Log: September 23, 2012, 1:23 AM

When the doors to the Tower elevator slid open, Steve walked through them without looking, his face still buried in a gym towel. He’d just gone through three reinforced punching bags in an effort to work off the frustration from his latest SHIELD mission, but even the resulting full-body ache wasn’t enough to weigh down the anxiety buzzing through his chest, and between the towel and the nerves, it took a moment for Steve to notice that the elevator was already occupied.

The other passenger was Tony Stark, who was currently slumped in one of the corners, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly ajar, looking as if he’d fallen asleep standing up. Which...was exactly what had happened, Steve realized, because Tony was now emitting the tiniest of snores, his head bobbing back against the mirrored glass behind him.

Steve felt the corners of his lips twitch.

It wasn’t the first time since moving into the Tower that he’d found Tony passed out in a position that suggested his condition of rest had not been achieved voluntarily. Just last week, Steve had come across Tony in the garage working on repairs to an old Shelby Mustang, and he’d made it halfway through a rehearsed speech asking the pair of legs sticking out from under the car whether they’d like to go to dinner sometime before he realized that Tony had fallen asleep on the dolly, a wrench still tucked in his hand.

It was, however, the first time that Steve had encountered Tony sleeping in a way that left him quite so open to the element of surprise. Steve slung his gym towel around his neck, moved carefully into a spotting formation, and then called out the words “expense reports” in a clear, slightly urgent tone.

“I’m awake!” Tony barked, stumbling momentarily before catching himself on the railing. He blinked blearily at Steve. “Oh, you’re not Pepper.” Another blink. “Oh, you’re an asshole.”

“It’s been suggested,” Steve smiled. “Out of curiosity, how long have you been riding this thing up and down?”

“Couldn’t say,” Tony admitted, stretching his arms toward the ceiling. “What day is it?”

“Sunday, technically,” Steve responded, his eyes dropping to the thin sliver of skin that Tony’s stretch had revealed at his waistline.

“Guess I should have asked what week it was too,” Tony muttered. The cords of muscle in his arms flexed as he ran his hands through his hair. “Are we headed to a floor that has coffee – or maybe a giant syringe of adrenaline? If the Spy Kids are back, I could probably get Romanov to stab me in the neck again. Actually, if she just looked at me the right way, I’d probably have a Pavlovian fight-or-flight response that might be good for a few hours of terrified wakefulness." He cleared his throat. "Uhhh...Ground Control to Major Tom: do you read me?”

“Hmm?” Steve replied, eloquently.

“Do you want to pick a floor there, Rogers?” Tony asked, a small smile creeping across his face. “Or would you rather keep ogling my biceps?”

Steve flushed rapidly, his eyes snapping toward the elevator door. He hit the button for the residential floor, mentally kicking himself for the obvious slip.

He’d known he was in trouble for a while, of course. If it hadn’t been clear the first time Tony raised the faceplate of his armor to reveal the kind of deep, expressive brown eyes that had always made Steve go weak at the knees, it was painfully apparent by the time those same eyes looked up at him from a rubble-strewn street in New York. But Steve had told himself he was going to tackle the situation head-on: ask Tony out on a date; use full sentences and appropriate eye contact; and do it while Tony was awake this time.

Great work so far, Steve thought grimly. Operation: Be Smooth, Rogers, For Once in Your Goddamn Life was obviously going to be a huge success.

“I mean, feel free to take an ogle to go,” Tony continued, his voice slowing to a teasing drawl. “It may shock you to hear this, but I don’t mind the attention. Go ahead: get your fill. I’d say ‘no sweat,’ but you’re clearly past that point.”

Steve risked a glance in Tony’s direction and saw that he was running his eyes slowly and deliberately over Steve’s torso.

“Got some energy to burn, Cap?” he asked. Then he caught his lower lip lightly between his teeth, and just like that, Steve’s heart was hammering so hard he could feel his pulse in his fingers.

“You offering to go a few rounds?” Steve countered after a short pause. The buzzing in his chest had turned electric, throwing sparks across nerves that he hadn’t felt light up since their fight on the Helicarrier.

Tony smirked, as if he could see exactly where Steve’s mind had gone.

“Oh, I’m starting to want you to make me,” he said, leaning back against the railing so that his hips jutted ever so slightly forward.

There might have been a moment when Steve’s brain formed a conscious intention to move, but if there was, he missed it. By the time his mind caught up with his body, he was already pressed up against Tony, kissing him hungrily as he crowded him back against the wall of the elevator. Tony made an eager noise of want in response, grabbing the ends of the towel around Steve’s neck and using it to pull him downward. A second later, his grip tightened as Steve grasped the backs of Tony’s thighs and hoisted him onto the railing. Tony retaliated by wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist, rolling his hips in a way that made the air catch in Steve’s throat.

“Fuck,” Tony swore as elevator doors swung open.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, searching Tony’s face. A small doubt had flickered to life somewhere in his mind, and he tried to summon the will to bring it into focus. But then Tony’s hands were running south down his back, and Tony’s breath was hot and ragged against his neck.

“Yeah, fuck yeah,” Tony said. “Fucking, now, yes.”

Steve responded with a noise that sounded embarrassingly close to a growl, and by the time the doors slid shut behind them, the flicker was already forgotten.

Read the rest on AO3

[omories]

i know i haven't posted in a hot minute.

i accidentlly got overemotional when my mom insisted that i eat the other day, and after that she's been on me constantly making sure i eat three meals. which isn't even fucking healthy considering she buys us mcdonalds every other day and keeps making incredibly rich foods for other meals. i've been on a s/h kick because of it since it reminds me i have such little control in my life. i never really expected to post s/h stuff on this blog because when i started this i was actually over a year clean. but lo and behold i'm relapsing worse than i ever have even in middle school. and i'm so fucking embarrassed about it because i'm about to turn 20, and cutting is such a stereotypically teenage habit. but my thoughts lately are 50% occupied with my brain begging me to cut and 50% occupied with my brain telling me i look disgusting and will never be loved. it's kind of funny considering even though i feel a weird joy when i see the aftermath from s/h i'm also filled with a panic and misery that nobody will ever love me because of the scars. anyway i got put on bupropion last week because i spent multiple weeks miserable in bed and decided that enough was fucking enough. i'm not experiencing the whole ~appetite suppressant~ side effects unfortunately but it did make my tinnitus worse :). also also also! because i was so bad at self care for the past month, my new piercings got infected and i had to take them out and they've healed over now :)). everything's been so shit because of my own self sabotage that i was planning out my suicide again with full intention of going through with it, until i overheard a phone conversation my mom was having with a relative that reminded me how bad the aftermath would be. i usually don't think about it because what do i fucking care, i'll be dead, but i was forced to acknowledge it for just a moment which made me decide it wasn't worth it. i still can't decide if that's a good thing or not.

whatever whatever fuck around and find out i guess. uhhh what else. my sister came home today which is yayy friend and noooo fuck noooo please fuck off please. i know that the only reason she ate one meal a day when she was away from home was literally because she couldn't fucking afford food, but i can't help feeling insanely fucking jealous because boo hoo i live with my mother who constantly feeds me. also terrified she'll somehow figure out i've been cutting again because it'll be hard to hide since we literally share a bedroom.

honestly i don't care to change the whole sh thing and ed thing and constant suicidality thing because they don't make me look visibly dysfunctional to the public, since they're hidden. but i do care about having the energy to take care of myself and to get out of bed and complete tasks and just stop being cripplingly depressed. i want people to look at me and think i have myself together. is that fucked up? i only care about the way other people percieve me, how i see myself doesn't really matter because i'm delusional anyway. fuck. i don't know if this is even true. i never know if anything i feel is true. i'm faking everything all the time constantly and lying to everyone. ugh. ugh ugh ugh i wish i could just get in a fucking fatal accident or murder of some sort so that nobody will have to devastate themselves thinking about what they did wrong with me. i think what i'd like the most is to be cut open slowly and made to bleed out to death. i just want it to hurt. murder isn't that common, maybe a car accident where my limbs get torn off but the paramedics don't get there for ages. i want it to be slow and painful. it's what i deserve for ruining my own fucking life. i don't know. i don't even know what i'm saying. i'm gonna go study. i'm gonna try to be functional. if my medication can curb my depression maybe next year i'll see a psychologist and find out if i'm as fucked up as i feel.