He watches you with amusement as you lose at darts and pout, then as you immediately perk up when your favorite song comes on. “Saaaaaammmmm! Dance with meeeeeee!” He laughs as you attempt to pull him out onto the floor, stopping you just before your behavior becomes truly embarrassing.
When you get home, he makes sure you drink a bottle of water and take a couple aspirin before you lay down, gently pushing your hair out of your face. He doesn’t mind a bit when you keep kissing him instead of getting ready for bed.
Once he finally gets you in pajamas and under the covers, you can’t stop giggling. He laughs along with you, even letting you braid his hair, because you insist that it will be hot. It isn’t. He sweetly tells you that you can spend the next day watching a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon. He’s lying.
You suddenly, without a doubt, no question, absolutely CANNOT sleep until you know who made it through to the next round on The Voice, so Sam creeps to the main room where he left his laptop and Googles it for you. When he comes back to bed, you are stretched across his pillow, snoring loudly. He kisses your forehead before gently sliding in around you, tucking you into his arms.
Dean loves the drunk version of you. He is usually the one who got you drunk in the first place, matching you shot for shot in a game of quarters or playing Kings.
Dean is a fun drunk. You both laugh all night, louder and louder, until Sam comes out of his room and gives you a bitch face for keeping him awake. That only makes you laugh harder.
But you eventually do decide to call it a night, and retreat to Dean’s bedroom. He doesn’t mention that you’re in his room, and not your own, and neither do you. Instantly, you both are all hands and hot skin and perfect sloppy kisses that make you desperate for more. Without inhibitions, momentarily without common sense to change your mind, the two of you fall into bed together. It’s passionate and steamy and exactly what you thought it would be.
Dean asks if you’re sure, because not even the alcohol can take away his need to protect you, his need to make sure you are comfortable. You assure him that you want this, just as much as he does. “Not possible,” he grins.
The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed. You stumble to the kitchen, inwardly smiling at the sting of beard burn on your inner thighs, to find Dean making you his hangover cure breakfast. “Nice sex hair,” he teases, kissing you gently and handing you scrambled eggs.
He hated this holiday. It was just a day-long montage of spilled beers, puke, customers having sex in the men’s room, and the headache that persisted no matter how much Mars try to fight it. Sighing, his jaw tense, he took a moment between orders to take a drink himself, downing a couple of aspirin he’d had stowed in his pocket. Once he finished he looked up, locking eyes for an awkward moment, with a bro who was already heading toward the bar, yelling about tequila shots while he dragged a scantly dressed in tow.
He steeled his nerves long enough to serve him and his friends. But it was like pulling a band-aid. His jaw still tense, he refocused his attention to the next customer, “Ya’ know what you want?” he asked, his Louisiana drawl feeling right at home, “We got a specials menu if ya’ need help decidin’,” he muttered, waving toward the menu before letting his hand delve into his pocket for his cigarettes. He struck one to life while he waited, the annoyance etched into his face.
Requested 💕 - “please please please do one where he’s your best friend and he tells you he loves you but don’t feel the same with Calum pleaseeeeee 😍”
I’m sorry I haven’t been posting a lot lately 😬 I didn’t realise writer’s block was so irritating until now. I can’t think of anything to write, it’s awful. I’ll try though, thank you for not giving up on me!
This isn’t great, I know.
You’d seen it as a drunken mistake. You’d actually laughed the next day, swallowed a couple of aspirin, kissed Calum on the cheek and walked out the door. The night you’d both drank too much and ended up in bed together. He knew at the time that all it was to you was just sex. He knew that it’d just cause him more pain the morning after, but he couldn’t say no to you, because for that one night you were his. The night that had meant everything to him.
“Are you having the last slice of pizza then?” Calum raises an eyebrow as you take it anyway.
“We can share it” you take a bite and then hold it out for him. He frowns at you, but takes a large bite of the food offered.
“It’s my damn pizza” he mumbles.
“Sharing’s caring” you nestle back into his side.
“You’re a pain in the arse”
“But you love me” you smile up at him, your mouth full of pizza. You have no idea the pain your words and actions cause your best friend.
“You’re not bad” he shrugs.
“You’re so mean” you mumble through a yawn.
“It’s not even 10 and you’re falling asleep on me” he chuckles, running his fingers through your hair.
“It’s because you’re so boring” you finally let your eyes close, feeling too warm and comfortable to be able to stay awake.
“Y/N?” He whispers, “do you want to stay here?”
“Yeah” is the last thing you mumble before falling asleep. As careful as Calum is not to wake you, you still stir at being moved from your warm spot as he carries you to his room.
“Here” he passes you a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms once you’re sat on his bed.
“Turn around” you yawn.
“I’ve already seen everything” he reminds you.
“Shut up” you laugh, “turn around.” He does as he’s told and then turns back when you tell him to. You snuggle down into his bed, but feel far colder than you did before.
“Night, love” he presses a kiss to your forehead and goes to move away, planning on sleeping on the couch. He can’t move too far before your fingers are locked in his shirt.
“Stay” you look up at him, fingers still tight around the thin cotton, “you’re warm and I’m cold.”
“Y-you want me to stay?” He stammers. You give him a sleepy, half nod from your horizontal position. He breathes out a shaky breath, before changing out of his clothes and climbing in beside you. His mind flashes back to the last time he was in a bed with you, but right now, he wouldn’t have changed this moment for anything. You bury into his chest, your hands cold against his skin. Wrapping his warm arms around you, he pulls you into his body, the way he’d dreamt of falling asleep with you.
“You’re so warm” you mumble.
“You’re so cold” you feel him chuckle against your cheek, “Y/N? Are you asleep again? I’ll take your silence as a yes. I wish this was different,” he whispers, his confidence growing simply because he knows you’re asleep, “I wish you’d sleep in my arms every night. I wish I could kiss you. I wish that night had meant something to you. I wish you’d looked at me the way I know I was looking at you. I wish you hadn’t left the next day, I wanted you to stay. You’re perfect, that night was perfect, you’re everything I’ve always wanted. I wish you knew how in love with you I am.” He stops, because he felt it. He felt your body stiffen momentarily. He realises that you were awake, that you’d heard everything he’d said. You’d heard it all and not said a word, you still weren’t saying a word. You’re silence proving that you didn’t feel the same way about him, that night or this one wasn’t going to be repeated, especially now. Everything was different in the space of a few seconds, he couldn’t take back the words and you couldn’t ignore them, but for right now, you could ignore it. Both of you could pretend that you didn’t know, that everything was the same, and you’d deal with it in the morning.