he looks like a handyman like i would break everything in my house just to get him to come fix it

2

“Lover to Lover” - [Tom Hiddleston/Jeremy Irons - One shot].

Based on: You and Tom have a difficult relationship. You can’t seem to commit even though you love him, and that’s all he wants from you but every time you argue, you end up taking refuge under Jeremy’s wing. He, on the other hand, is thankful for the few moments he gets to spend with you, treats you like a princess, and takes care of you. Tom knows all about it and it kills him because he genuinely feels intimidated by Jeremy and your undying love for him.

Written by: A.Wölf.

Lake scene ambience

Jeremy’s song Which he actually sings in [x]

Notes: This is more of a conversation between those who believe in love, those who don’t, and those with their own version of it or those who seem to actually understand it. // My stories never have anything to do with me they’re always 100% fiction, but this time, to any former “lovers” out there, if you read this (which i sincerely hope not because you shouldn’t fucking stalk): i am not sorry. I just never wanted what you wanted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Barefoot.

Walking along the lake as the sun set while holding my heels in my right hand, and all I could hear was the sound of rippling water and the lovely birds’ song during the short pauses he and I took while our mouths gave birth to yet another argument.

“Is this why you brought me here?” I asked.

Tom looked at the ground, with his hands inside his pockets as we kept on going forward, but I would’ve been able to sense his disapproval from a long distance.

“It’s just a wedding”, he muttered with a shrug, “It’s what happens during these events. Why come all the way to the lake by yourself while everybody else is having fun up there?” He inquired, nudging his chin in the reception’s direction.

I stopped walking. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, Thomas”.

He stopped too and met my eyes.

“It’s just a bouquet for god’s sake! A silly tradition. Who says you’re going to catch it anyway?”

“It’s not the bouquet. It’s the fact that you actually hope I catch it. That you wanted me to hold your friend’s baby as soon as we arrived and snap a picture when I’ve told you a million times I don’t like that. That I agreed to come here and you’re forcing all these things again”.

“Oh I am well-aware that I almost had to drag you here, trust me. You didn’t even attend my sister’s wedding for crying out loud”.

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Volcano (Bestfriend! Yoongi)

Drabble

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 1,052

Genre: Fluff, 

Summary: Yoongi’s your best friend and personal handyman. When he goes to American and your air conditioner breaks, he comes home only to laugh and… such.


Freedom felt nice. When you’d move into your apartment a few months ago, everything seemed fine. Other than when everything kept breaking around it. Luckily enough, your best friend was pretty handy with some tools. When your shower broke, he fixed it. When the pipe under your sink broke, he fixed it. Holes in the wall, he fixed it. You were clumsy and he was stoic about most things. For the laziest guy you knew, Yoongi was always up to save your ass when you were in trouble.

Then there was today. You’d taken him to the airport a few hours prior so he could go to America with his friends and upon your arrival home, you discovered your air conditioner was broken. To be more technical, it fell to the ground while you were gone. In your head, you blamed him first for probably slamming the door too many times with his heavy hands and breaking it. You didn’t have the heart to send him a text telling him what had happened because you didn’t want to imagine the face he’d make when he stepped off the plane to that message. You also didn’t quite have the money to get someone else to fix it, so there was only one thing to do; Live in a volcano for a week and a half.

For the first half, you had simply suffered and then you mustered up the courage to go into Yoongi’s house and steal his fan that he’d bought for 400 dollars at the start of this heat wave of a summer. He lived alone in that big house and it always boggled you how he didn’t die in the heat, especially with as many roommates as he had. As you were in the home, you contemplated moving in for the remainder of their vacation and simply living in the air conditioning. Knowing you though, they’d find out and you would never hear the end of it. They’d find some of your hair somewhere or you’d accidentally leave clothes around as you basked in the sweet, cold air and they’d know. The boys were idiots, but they were smartish.

After retrieving the fan, the heat wave got even worse and you were reduced to walking around your apartment almost naked whenever you were there. All of your friends were gone, so it wasn’t like it truly mattered. Your family never came by during the week and a half because the heat was so intense nobody wanted to be stuck in a car for hours. Sadly, the only time you left the house was for work and you were happy there, there was air conditioning. You even clocked in some overtime this week simply because you didn’t want to leave the office.



 

Yoongi had told you that he’d be staying a few extra days in America and all you could do was feel like crying. He had no idea what you were going through as you laid in your house in a matching set of bra and panties, suffering.  Then the worst thing happened. Your door clattered open revealing a bit of a darker and pinker Yoongi decorated in American clothing standing in your open doorway.

“I’m home!” he announced and slammed the door behind him, “Holy shit, Y/N! Why are you waiting for me dressed like that? Holy shit, it’s hot. What the fuck did you do?” you sat up from your sprawled position on the couch and pulled your knees to your chest to cover yourself. His eyes locked on the air conditioner on the ground where it had fallen almost 2 weeks ago and he sighed. “My personal porn star and a job to do the day I get home… amazing.”

“What are you doing here? You asked, standing up with a pillow in front of you. When you reached his side the pillow even began to feel hot, so you just threw it back on the couch. He’d seen you like this before, whatever. “I also didn’t want to ruin America, how was it superstar?”
He chuckled at his favorite nickname you gave him. “I figured I’d stay with you for a bit since I was with those guys for a straight while. Gotta have priorities.” he smiled and reached down to hug you.

“Oh, it’s too hot for hugs.” you groaned as Yoongi twirled you and lifted you to him. He loved holding you and it was always weird. “Please, just fix the air conditioner and put me down before my sweat seeps into your clothes.” he kissed the top of my head and listened, immediately getting to work on the fallen thing.

If you’d ever watched him while he worked on things around your apartment, your life would probably be easier. You wouldn’t have to call him whenever there was a problem and you could just fix your own things. However, you were coming to terms with the fact that he kind of liked this. Yoongi liked feeling needed by you. As much as it pained his poor lazy soul.

It was finished within minutes and you couldn’t help but cry out in happiness. You jumped back into his open arms and he held you for a good minute, running his hands through your hair. “You’re always my hero, Yoongi.” you smiled up at him.

He looked down and licked his lips, causing you to laugh. “Wow, you look fucking hot right now. Pressed up against me…”

“Oh, shut up. You just went to America and I bet you saw even better things than me in my volcano in-”

“Lingerie.”

“This isn’t lingerie.”

You felt his face drawing dangerously close and he whispered one more time, directly in front of your lips. “Close enough.” Then he kissed you. The two of you had kissed before, but never sober.

“Get it?” he pulled away after a few moments, “You look hot. Cause it was hot.” he smirked at his own joke. “And you’re hot.”

You sighed, “I’m going to put on clothes, this is over.” he began to walk away, slowly feeling the arctic from the ac arriving.

“But nothing ever happened!” he yelled out. You couldn’t help but laugh at yourself and slam the door behind you as you stepped into your bedroom.

top five destiel aus

Today my arch nemesis @thefriendlypigeon– who’s like a canon(ish) horror, drama, action reader -  got an ask about her five favorite Destiel AU’s and that inspired me to sit down and think about my top five – because everyone knows I’m the one who’s the AU part of that relationship.

I regularly make her want to vomit just talking about the silly, fluffy or completely far off canon things I read. And because there can never be enough praise for authors and that anon is short a top-five-rec-list, here are my all-time-top five AU’s:

1: “Tumblr Anonymous: Project Beyonce: The Unmaking of Dean Winchester in Ten Easy Steps“ by MittenWraith ( @mittensmorgul on tumblr)

Dean Winchester inherited his father’s garage (and their family home, and his 14-year-old genius of a brother) shortly after his eighteenth birthday. Their Uncle Bobby comes down to help Dean learn how to run the business, and Sam convinces his brother to take some classes so he’ll be equipped to expand the mom and pop garage into the classic restoration shop he’s dreamed about for years. Now five years later, a little foray onto the internet to promote his shop leads Dean to a very interesting corner of Tumblr, and a mysterious online friend who only knows Dean as his #Fiance Anon. What happens after more than a year of increasingly fond anonymous correspondence?

[Mature] [37066 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

2: “The Breath Of All Things“ by KismetJesk

 Dean Winchester was twenty-six years old when a car accident killed his father and left him paralysed from the waist down. A year and a half later, Dean is in a wheelchair and lives in a care home in Kansas, where he spends his days waiting to die. It’s only when Castiel Novak starts volunteering at the care home that Dean starts to wonder if a changed life always equals a ruined one.

[Teen And Up Audiences] [65409 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

3: “Satin and Sawdust“ by Ltleflrt ( @ltleflrt on tumblr)

When Castiel moves out of Jimmy’s house and into his own place for the first time, he saves money on buying a home by investing in a Fixer-Upper.  He knows nothing about how to fix the many problems the house has, but he figures he’s smart enough to figure it out.  Unfortunately it’s not too long before he learns that he’s way in over his head.

Thankfully his new neighbor Dean is a handyman, and agrees to help him out.  He knows Dean has a bit of a crush on him, but he’s not taking advantage of it, really.  Dean’s a great guy, and quickly becomes a good friend.

But a flash of satin under Dean’s toolbelt changes everything.

[Explicit] [159594 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

4: “Say Something“ by JhanaMay( @jhanamay on tumblr)

No matter how difficult he can be, Dean loves his son. Raising him alone after his mother died hasn’t been easy, but with the support of his family and friends, Dean has made it work. Now that Ben is starting kindergarten, Dean hopes that he can finally relax a little, but the challenges Ben faces at school make Dean realize that their struggles are just beginning. When Ben is assigned a new support teacher, Dean finds that Ben isn’t the only Winchester who has a problem dealing with change.

[Explicit] [250052 Words] [Read on AO3 here]

5: “Everything is Subtext: Revenge of the Subtext” by MittenWraith  ( @mittensmorgul on tumblr)

Things are finally settling back down to normal since Cas gave up his grace to cure Dean of the Mark. Well, as normal as their lives are allowed to get. Sam relentlessly finds new cases to work, one right after the other; but Dean thinks they need a break to let Cas have some purely human fun, for once. It’s true they had a difficult time readjusting to humanity at first, but Dean thinks Cas deserves to do more than ride around in the back seat and follow them on monster hunts. Then again, Dean’s a little bit scared to ask exactly what Cas would want, just in case it doesn’t include spending quite so much time with him. And with Sam (of course).
Sam’s been tracking a series of odd occurrences in Laramie, Wyoming for the last few weeks that looks just enough like a case to finally convince Dean they should go check it out. Whether they like it or not, the goddess responsible for the weirdness in Laramie takes an immediate interest in the three less-than-perfectly-happy hunters who’ve stumbled into her town.

[Explicit] [80064 Words] [Read on AO3 here]


and because i couldn’t decide which fifth story to pick and really wanted to put them both in my top five:

6. “Never Have I Ever“ by sweetdean

When Jo drags Dean along to a game of “never have I ever” with her friends, he finds himself getting caught up in a lot more than just a game.

————-

“Never have I ever hung out with such an asshole,” Dean countered, positively shocked at his own sass. Cas smirked again.

“Oh, are we hanging out now?”

[Explicit] [78597 Words] [Read on AO3 here]


If you like those and are looking for more check out my AO3 bookmarks for other fanfics I enjoyed, inlcuding 120+ Destiel Recs.

The Blue Beach House - Part 1: Out of the ashes

Characters: Reader (Y/N Singer), Charlie Bradbury, Dick Roman, Uriel McCain, Castiel Novak, Meg Novak, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Bobby (OC)  

Pairing: Sam x reader (eventually)

Warnings: Mention of adoption, Controling ex boyfriend, mention of character death, mention of panic attack, small panic attack, crappy crappy ex (can not stress that enought!), 

Wordcount: 2500ish

A/N: This is an AU and it is done for @teamfreewill-imagine and @latinenglishfandomblog SSJJ challenge. Sam is a preschool teacher in this one and it is my very first Sam series. This is part 1 of 5. Hope you guys will like it!

Thanks to @blacktithe7 for betaing this

GIFS ARE NOT MINE

You took a deep breath as you looked around the small house that was now filled with boxes and tried to imagine how your life would be here.

You hadn’t been on your own for  long and as much as the thought appealed to you, it also scared you shitless. For the past few years you had never been alone. There had always been people around you. People in the office, clients, other lawyers, your boyfriend… And still you had felt alone all the time. You had no idea what actually being alone would mean to you.

“So I think that is the last of them…” you turned around and saw your best friend blow her hair out of her face just as she lowered the last two boxes onto the ground, “are you sure you are gonna be okay out here?”

You smiled as you saw the frown on Charlie’s face and you walked up to her. You put your arm around her shoulder as your eyes wandered the house again. “You know what? Yeah I think I will be!”

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The Caucasian's Guide To Black Neighborhoods - by NegusWhoRead by The Race Card

As society enters the utopia promised to us in old negro spirituals, the Bill of Rights and Martin Luther King’s dreams we are beginning to witness this country morphing into a true homogenous melting pot. While we are still a long way away from a post-racial America, neighborhoods across the country are evolving into multicultural mixtures of where white people play Spades, Black people listen to country music and everybody hates Donald Trump. Whether it is gentrification, progressive thinking or the result of the pre-Obama real estate crash, more White people are moving into Black neighborhoods. Harlem is no longer an all-Black mecca and there are scores of White people who are beginning to receive mail at addresses on Martin Luther King Boulevards across this nation.

With this integration comes an array of situations that our Caucasian comrades might not be prepared for. Never fear. As NegusWhoRead has previously guided you through Black cookouts, church services, Thanksgiving dinners and parties, we now offer you our latest installment in our Caucasian Guide series–The Caucasian Guide To Black Neighborhoods.

Probation After you have chosen to move into a Black neighborhood, there are a few things you should know. The most important rule to remember is that living in a Black neighborhood is like getting a job at a Fortune 500 company–you will be on a probationary period. For a period of either 90 days, or until someone inside the neighborhood Illuminati (we will get to this later) gives you the stamp of approval, you are a visitor in this section of town. Even if you have a year lease. Even if you have a mortgage. The side-eye that you receive is because Black people are very territorial of their neighborhoods, and we are predisposed to the same prejudices that White people have when they see Black people. However, our race-based skepticism actually makes us nicer. Because of what we see on TV and movies, we assume all White people are one bad breakup or firing away from becoming a serial killer. I know that’s very prejudiced, but just like how your kin clutch their purses when we pass them in parking lots of Target, Black people will be nice to you for the first three months because they want to be the one person you spare when you go on your shooting spree.

After we get to know you, you can enjoy the full rights and privileges of everyone else in the neighborhood. We’ll invite you to the cookouts (but you still can’t bring potato salad or make the Kool-Aid) and even invite you to our church. The only restriction you will have is that you still won’t be able to use the n-word. Never, ever, ever make the mistake of believing you’re so inside the loop that you can say that. Not even the version with the “a” at the end. I know you are dying to say it, so when James introduces you to his homeboy as “my nigga Brett,” just lower your head, smile, stick out your hand and offer a handshake.

Meeting The Neighbors When you move in, the first order of business should be getting to know your neighbors. There is a right way to do this, and a White way. The right way to do this is organic. You have to holla at them when you go to the mailbox or as you see them on the street. The wrong way to do this is the White way. Do not show up on anyone’s doorsteps with brownies or a homemade pie to introduce yourself. We don’t know you like that. Plus, we don’t know how clean your kitchen is. We (probably wrongly) assume that you let your dogs lick your silverware and you wash your dishes in the dishwasher (which is nastier than feeding your dog with people spoons, in our opinion) because that’s what we see on TV. How else would we know?

We are suspicious of all white people showing up at our houses for no reason. What do you want? Did I order an Apple pie? Then why are you on my porch offering me food? Even if your neighbor is a middle class Black doctor, we assume all uninvited White people are undercover police investigating us for the crime of being Black. Am I under arrest? Is there a listening device hidden in the pie? Are you the Feds, Brett?

All Black neighborhoods are commercial districts Because of the disparities in employment, hiring and the cost of regulation, every Black neighborhood has an underground economy that rivals La Cosa Nostra. I know you believe in the steadfast rules of law governed by zoning boards and city councils, but Black neighborhoods are different. According to the Negro Constitution, every street populated by more than 50% Black people must, by law, have a Black woman who does hair in her kitchen. Why would anyone drive downtown when Sherita can do a quick weave while watching her stories? In fact every barber and beautician in Black America started out in his or her kitchen. It’s like the minor leagues for baseball. There’s also a woman named Pam who runs a complete restaurant out of her house two houses down from you. However, she doesn’t sell “entrees” or “meals.” She sells “plates.” Chicken plates. Sandwich plates. Just plates. They all come with either fries, rice and gravy or macaroni and cheese. Other businesses in your neighborhood include the guy who fixes cars in is backyard, the neighborhood carpenter/handyman/plumber/electrician, and of course, the weed man. That’s Al. You’ll get to know him.

Don’t Ruin Our NeighborhoodThe number one rule for White people moving into Black neighborhoods is to respect their culture. You can live there, but don’t gentrify. I know you want to bring in a Panera bread and a Whole Foods, but you better take your white people shit somewhere else. Al’s Deli has been making sandwiches in this neighborhood for 37 years, and even though his sandwich shop’s health rating averages a C-, and he sells marijuana sacks in the back, we don’t need a Subway Sandwiches here. Once white people start showing up, Starbucks follows and thats when the trouble starts. We know what your plan is–to build high-rise condominiums and market our block as the hot new hipster hangout. That’s why we rob you guys every now and then. There really isn’t much crime here, we have just designated a few local guys to rough random white strangers up every now and then as a preemptive measure from overrunning our community with thrift shops, cupcake stores and ironic White college students looking for adventure. We know what happens when you show up.

If only the Indians had thought of that.

Dignitaries Every Black neighborhood has a list of people who are royalty in their little fiefdom. It is your responsibility to get to know these people and honor them with the respect they deserve:

Miss Mary

Miss Mary has lived on this block since 1943. Her husband passed about 30 years ago, and she has raised 4 generations of children in the same house, all who became teachers, lawyers and businessmen. Her house is always spotless, and smells like cinnamon and lavender. In her old age, Miss Mary doesn’t get out much, except for her daily walk around the neighborhood. When you see her, regardless of what the traffic laws say, you slow down and wave. Also, every time you go to the grocery store it is your responsibility to ask her if she needs anything. All she usually wants is a gallon of milk. Or some eggs. Or a 20-sack from Al’s.

Big Jack

Big Jack will fuck you up. Big Jack isn’t that big, and his name is probably something like Herman, but he runs the block. Every neighborhood has someone who runs it, and it is usually a quiet, no-nonsense guy who works at the local steel mill and wears a wife-beater most of the time. He keeps everything in place, and makes sure there are no shenanigans. The young guys don’t mess with him and he gets respect from everyone. Get to know him.

The young people

make sure you stay cool with them. It’s easy to do. When they are selling that bullshit World’s Finest Chocolate as a high school fundraiser (which should be sued for it’s lying-ass name) buy 5. Pay them to wash your car and cut your hedges. If you have an Xbox let them play because if you are cool with the kids in the neighborhood, you are automatically cool with the parents, which makes you cool with everyone. This can actually cut your probationary period in half.

The Neighborhood Gossip

She is the Fox News of the neighborhood. Like Fox News, she never has all of the facts, but she is entertaining as hell. She knows who’s fucking who, what Pam is cooking today and any bit of news you need to know. This is probably Sherita and her sources come from her customers whose press & curls she does every Friday. She always needs a ride to the store, usually to get beer and some Remy #9 ( Not the liquor, that’s a type of hair, for all my white readers) but you should always give her one, because if someone breaks into your house, she will tell you who did it and where to find your stuff. From there, you just call Big Jack and you’ll be straight. Trust me.

Pets There is one rule you should know about Black people and animals: They don’t give a fuck about your pets.

White people love dogs. Black people love our dogs. Knowing this can prevent a lot of headache. If you’re going out of town, don’t ask one of the kids in the neighborhood to pet-sit. Your little Fluffy will die. Also, don’t try to pet dogs in Black neighborhoods. They bite. You might fuck around and lose a finger. Black pets are companions, family members and bodyguards. We like our pets mean. 83% of the reason Black people have pets is to warn them when White people are approaching. It’s like a pre-doorbell security alarm, because y’all will just pop up at people’s house without calling. We know how y’all do. You haven’t spoken to your mother since Thanksgiving 1998 but you act like your neighbors are blood relatives.

Also, when your Black neighbor visits you, don’t assume they are cool with your dog greeting them. Again, we love our dogs, not all dogs. It’s a cultural thing that’s kind of y’all’s fault. Between the police dogs biting us during civil rights marches and the drug sniffing dogs locking up Black people disproportionately, we might need a minute to acclimate.
Police When living in a Black neighborhood, one must remember the role of police in Black populations. I know that in White habitats the rule is–the more police, the safer the neighborhood. The converse is true for Black neighborhoods. This is the one area where Black people are politically conservative and believe in small government.
Read the rest at the link..

a/n: This is one of those drabble prompts that got away from me. It starts out a little angtsy but it gets really fun. This will be two parts. Thanks to adrina-stark for the prompt!

prompt: Bellarke + 15 - The new handyman is hot so I’m gonna keep breaking stuff

fix this broken heart of mine - part 1

She moves into her new apartment on a rainy Tuesday in March.

Her phone is going crazy, texts from friends asking if she’s okay and she couldn’t even tell you how many times her mother has called her in the past few days.

You would think none of them had ever seen someone go through a breakup before.

She rents a U-Haul and asks her friends Raven and Jasper to help her move in, the latter being her best friend since grade school who’s been dating Raven for over a year. They agree instantly and Clarke hates it because she knows that they are looking at her in pity, like the end of a five year relationship is going to send her spiraling down into some lonely abyss.

Most of the time she thinks they are being ridiculous. Sometimes she thinks that they might be right.

She’s been to her new apartment complex only twice before, once to look at the apartment and another to sign the lease. It’s the first time she’s ever lived alone because she lived with Finn for two years after high school and before that she was always at home with her parents. The thought of living alone, even in a city that she’s lived in her entire life, is both thrilling and terrifying.

Jasper and Raven show up at her place (her old place) at nine-thirty in the morning, both of them huddled under a big maroon umbrella.

“You couldn’t wait to move until June?” Jasper asks playfully as he steps over the threshold and shakes out his hair. “It’s pouring out there!”

“Jasper, hush.” Raven gives him a stern look and he rolls his eyes and looks around.

“Is he here?”

Clarke shakes her head. “No, but he’ll be off work by noon. I want everything out before he gets home. Everything is already in boxes we just need to get it in the U-Haul.”

It’s heartbreaking, the fact that her entire life is now not only flipped completely upside down but is currently residing inside brown cardboard boxes and sealed up with moving tape. An image of her heart wrapped in bubble wrap pops up in her mind and she wants to laugh and cry all at the same time.

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greyhoundsgirl  asked:

For your prompt requests, only if you like it, of course! I love Derek and the Sheriff being friends, so what if Stiles starts getting jealous cos suddenly Derek is really busy all the time and Stiles assumes he's dating someone, but he's been helping John out?

oh yessss, Oblivious!Stiles, Jealous!Stiles, and BestBros!Sheriff&Derek, everything I could ever want

“Whatcha’ gonna do with all that junk? All that junk inside your trunk?”  Stiles jokes, sweat pouring down his face.  Jeez, it’s hot.

“None of your business, Stiles,”  Derek says quite irritably, slamming the Camaro’s trunk shut—hiding what looks to be fishing rods, of all things—after pulling out a toolbox.  “Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?”

“Nope,”  Stiles pops his lips, throwing a grape at Derek’s head from the porch step he’s sitting on.  It bounces off its intended target, rolling into the long grass, and Stiles says, “It’s summer break, remember?”

The air conditioner’s broken and it’s at least a thousand degrees inside the house.  Buuut, there’s a slight breeze outside, and Stiles is trying to milk it for all it’s worth.

“Yes, I remember.”  Derek walks up the steps, toolbox in hand.  He nudges Stiles to the side as he goes to open the front door.  Curious about why Derek’s at his house, Stiles gets up and trails after him.

“Then where have you been?  Allison had a barbecue last week, and you never showed up.”

Derek places his toolbox on Stiles’ kitchen table.  “I was out of town.”

“Doing what?”  Stiles asks as Derek starts pulling wrenches and screw drivers from his fancy looking toolbox.  “And what the hell are you doing?”

“Stuff,”  Derek says, and sarcastically, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Stiles folds his arms over his chest.  “Uh, making a mess of my kitchen table?”

“Go away, Stiles,”  Derek mutters, not bothering to even look up from what he’s doing.

Frustrated, Stiles throws his hands up in the air.  “Fine!”  He marches off to sit on the sofa, instead of heading outside again, muttering under his breath about poor conversationalist werewolves.  What? He’s worried Derek might hurt himself with his own tools.  He’s seen his dad hammer his own finger instead of a nail too many times to count.  A handyman, his dad is not.

Stiles pouts, sinking further into the cushions.  Derek’s been pretty much MIA this summer, and it sucks because Stiles hardly ever gets to see him during the school year at Berkeley.  He just wishes Derek would try to make an effort to hang with Stiles.  At least so Stiles could justify the huge, honking crush he’s been nursing for Derek since senior year.

He thought they were friends, but apparently Derek’s found some other friends to spend all his time with.

Stiles may be many things, but stupid ain’t one of them.  When he’s at Berkeley, and they’re in the middle of a Skype call, Derek sometimes gets texts from random strangers.  Stiles knows it’s not anyone in the pack.  They know not to come between Stiles and Derek and the few times a week Derek thinks about him enough to give him a call.

It has to be a stranger.  A stranger who knows Derek well enough that their texts bring an adorably shy smile to his lips and a slight flush to his cheeks.  Jesus, Stiles can’t even hate this other person properly.  Anyone who makes Derek smile like that is good in his books.

It doesn’t stop Stiles from being jealous as all heck.

He turns on the TV, and sulks.  

After some time, the front door opens and his dad enters, throwing his keys in the bowl by the front door.  Stiles is just about to get up to greet him when he calls out, “Derek, you still here.”

Stiles’ freezes, eyes wide, as Derek peeks his head out of the kitchen, a smear of what looks to be grease on his face, and says, “Yeah, just about done repairing the A.C.”  His dad walks over to Derek and claps him on the shoulder, causing Stiles’ eyes to bug out of his head.  What kind of bizzaro hell dimension is this?  “There was a problem with the coils, but I got it fixed up just fine,”  Derek says, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Thanks, son,”  his dad says, “Did you eat lunch?”  Derek shakes his head, and his dad frowns, turning to Stiles with a displeased look on his face.  “Stiles, why didn’t you feed Derek?  I know it’s summer, but that doesn’t mean you have to be rude.”

Stiles blinks, “I didn’t know feeding Derek was something we did in this house?”  His dad purses his lips, and Stiles continues in a very quiet voice, “I’m feeling very confused right about now.”

His dad rolls his eyes, turning back to Derek, “I’m sorry my son’s a lazy, impolite ass.”

“Hey!”  Stiles protests, just as Derek throws his head back and laughs.  Like full on belly shaking, world changing, unicorns are falling out of his mouth, laughter.  Stiles is feeling so attacked right now.

Derek looks at him, an actual smile on his face, and says, “It’s just one of his charms, I guess.”

So attacked.

His dad gets this look in his eye, and glances between the two of them in a way that could only be described as snake-like.  “You know that thing we discussed on our weekly fishing trips, Derek?  And that I keep texting you about, but you just blush and smile like an idiot?  Well, you might want to talk to Stiles about it.”  His dad smirks and walks towards the front door, grabbing his keys.  He leaves the house with a wave, and a, “I expect to see you at Saturday dinners from now on, Derek!”

Stiles frowns.  Saturday dinners?  The last time Stiles had a girlfriend, his dad demanded that she show up for Saturday dinners.  Stiles looks to Derek, expecting to see the same amount of confusion on his face.  Instead, what he gets is Derek gazing up at the ceiling, as if praying for divine interference, with his face the colour of a ripe tomato.

Ohhhhh, Saturday dinners.

Stiles giggles.

BoKuroo Week: Burning Love

Day 3: roommates

“My room’s up the stairs to the left and yours is just down the hall from it. And we have to share the bathroom, but I’m sure we can work that out,” Kuroo explained. He looked at the guy who answered his roommate ad. The guy was tall with slightly strange hair, seemed nice enough, and he didn’t give off any weirdo murder vibes.

“Of course,” he said smiling.

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