dylan c

Action

Originally posted by dylan-looover

Requested: YES

Requested by anonymous: Heeey! Can u make a imagine where Dylan and Y/N are on TW cast and they are responsible by 100% of the bloopers? Just make it fun and cute pleaseeee! Thank u, love. You’re the best❤️❤️

WORDS: 203

WARNING: short ugh

A/N: Thanks! I hope you like it!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Okay, ready? And…ACTION!”

I jumped and Dylan held me.

“Stiles, we need to go. Now!”

“No. Wait, I have to call Scott.”

“No! Stiles, we need to go right now!” I pulled him by his arm.

“Please, listen to me ok? We need to… uh… I.. forgot it.”

I laughed and he shook his head.

“We need to… We- need….”

“You need a bit of practice.” I said and he laughs.

“Stiles, c’mon, you’re lost, man!” I yelled and Dylan laughed.

“C’mon, Y/N, you’re not helping.” Dylan said. “We need to…”

“We need Jesus.”

Dylan couldn’t stop laughing.

“Cut! Guys, c’mon!”

“Sorry.” I said. “C’mon Dylan, we need to…uh, forgot it.”

He shook his head, still laughing.

“You’re such a bad actor” I yelled.

“Ok, let’s try the kiss scene.”

I prepared myself, Dylan winked at me and I rolled my eyes.

“ACTION!”

Dylan placed his hands on my waist, pulling me closer, I looked at him and we were about to kiss when I accidentally hit my forehead on his.

“Ouch!” I groaned.

“Sorry.” Dylan laughed.

“Ok, you two need a time. Let’s take a break.”

“He hates us.” I said and Dylan nods.

“We should focus.”

“Yep.” I kissed his cheek.

shelter from the storm

All I can think about is Danny catching the first flight back.  He’s standing in the doorway to the bedroom, Steve’s asleep, but it’s clearly not a comfortable sleep.  It’s tense, there’s twitching, pained grunts, a grimace on Steve’s face, the exhaustion so severe that he sleeps on, anyway.

Danny doesn’t yet cross the room to get into bed.  He doesn’t know what to do when he gets there, doesn’t know where is safe to touch.  Steve’s chest might be healing nicely but the scar is still red and bright.  And Danny, fuck, Danny, maybe it makes him a coward but sometimes he snuggles against Steve’s back, just so that he can feel and see and nuzzle a patch of skin that’s unbroken.  Just so that he can be at peace for two fucking seconds, not have to face the sight of Steve, sliced open, raw and bleeding and leaving him.

“I fucking hate you,” he whispers, because Steve’s ruined everything, his back swathed in bandages, a brand new slice right beneath that’s just waiting to break Danny’s heart anew.

Steve grunts, rolls onto his back and gasps awake, the pain an almost physical presence in the room, a red haze that Danny could reach out and touch if he wanted to.  He doesn’t want to, the haze always hurts like acid but he chose Steve, he chooses Steve, he’ll always choose Steve.  He walks into the room.

“Steve,” he says, heartbroken, overcome by how relieved Steve looks to see him.  “I’m sorry.  God.  I love you.” 

He shucks his sweaty travel clothes and crawls onto the bed.  He might be smaller but he curls around Steve, a shell around a pearl.  Steve is chipped and uneven, rough at the edges, but perfect, beautiful, the greatest gift the sea has ever given.  Danny holds him gently with both hands, fights through the red haze to settle his palms on broken skin.

“Bit sore,” Steve admits reluctantly, because he’s Steve and he doesn’t know any other way to be.

“Yeah,” Danny says, voice wet with emotion.  “Yeah.  Your chest.  Your back.  I don’t even know where to… I don’t know.  I don’t know where to touch you.”

Steve sighs, still hurting, but content now.  “Just there,” he says, drifting off in Danny’s arms.

“Just there,” Danny agrees, a bundle of grief and gratitude and love.  The haze is slowly fading, but Danny won’t sleep, not yet.  He breathes deep and settles in to guard Steve through the night.

youtube

Michael C. Hall covering Dylan is my current happy place. I mean, seriously. What a wonderful world. 

(PS. If you’re a Six Feet Under and/or Dexter fan and are not aware of Hall’s performances on Broadway, um, google image search ‘Michael Hall Hedwig Cabaret’, and then try not to fucking die from happiness, you’re welcome).