nonnie

anonymous asked:

You want a bit of fluff? How’s about Roman turning to Patton when he’s feeling down and saying, “You’re that guy that we read about in books that everyone loves.”

ADJKSHFLAHSFKSDJHFKDJSHF

OH MY GOD, NONNIE, I LOVE IT. THIS IS TOP QUALITY FLUFF. AND THEN PATTON SQUEAKS AND BLUSHES AND SMOTHERS ROMAN IN LOVE AND COMPLIMENTS AND KISSES AND THEY BOTH SNUGGLE AND TAKE A NAP AND IT’S CUTE AND WARM AND HAPPY.

anonymous asked:

So weird prompt- Derek all sleepy running on instinct accidentally acting all sweet around Stiles? (I had a dream like this once, but he licked his hair for some reason? Do with that what you will.)


Your wish is my command, nonnie. Except for the hair licking. I could’t work out a way to include that, ;)


They’ve been researching chupacabras for hours, Stiles curled up in the enormous brown leather armchair Derek bought a couple years ago. Derek sitting on the floor by his feet, back leaning against the arm of the chair, legs stretched out under the fancy-schmancy coffee table that Stiles thinks looks like something from a pottery barn catalog, but that Derek insists is handmade by a master carpenter from reclaimed wood.

Five years ago if someone had told Stiles that Derek Hale, the dude who once spent three months living out of a rusting train car in an abandoned depot, was a snob about interior design, he would have laughed.

Now he’s sitting in Derek’s refurbished loft apartment, with its exposed brick walls, high ceilings and large windows that let in plenty of light. Everywhere  Stiles looks there’s bare wood, expensive leather furnishings and flashes of polished chrome. It’s decorated in neutral colors, slate grays and storm-tossed blues that have been accented with the odd flash of brighter color here and there. Everything feels sharp, and sleek and natural all at once. It feels grown up and very masculine, and Stiles is kinda secretly in love with it. Derek has bookshelves and organic coffee and prints hanging on the wall from old movies. He has an expensive waffle iron and an omelette pan. He has a fucking ficus. A ficus. Stiles cannot.

Not that he ever tells Derek how weird he finds it. Even three years ago, he might have done. But seeing Derek get to the point where he’s no longer hyper-vigilant or consumed by anger and guilt has changed things. Derek actually takes time to care for himself and the space in which he lives– and, well– now when Stiles feels the urge to comment on that stuff he squashes it back down. He never wants to make Derek feel bad about taking good care of himself. Not ever. So when Derek produces some newfangled kitchen implement Stiles has never heard of before, or Skypes with Kira for half an hour, discussing with perfect seriousness whether Windblown Clouds or New York City Winter would be the better shade of gray for the living room in her Chicago apartment, Stiles watches on indulgently and says nothing.

Currently, it’s almost one in the morning; one of Derek’s large chrome lamps casts a golden puddle of light over them both, keeping the shadows of night at bay. For the past half hour Derek’s head has been gradually lolling back onto the armrest of Stiles’ chair, edging closer and closer to Stiles’ knee. Stiles keeps getting distracted by it, half tempted to reach out and scritch the fine hairs on the nape of Derek’s neck. He avoids the impulse though, and eventually Derek starts to snore gently.

Stiles is debating whether to wake him up and make him go to bed when Derek startles awake with a sudden snort. Stiles snaps his book shut and places it on the end table next to him. “Okay,” he says, “time for you to go to bed.”

Derek looks round at him, blinking blearily. “S’okay,” he says, “I c’n–”

“You’re dead on your feet,” Stiles says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “You had a full day at work, then got gutted by a weird hairless dog lizard thing, and now you’ve spent the last three hours reading ancient grimoires trying to research the weird hairless dog lizard. You’ve done enough.” Experience has taught Stiles that extreme healing always makes the wolves tired eventually, although it tends to be a delayed reaction. Sure, they seem fine in the initial aftermath, but the sheer amount of energy it takes to regenerate skin and muscle and regrow bone takes its toll eventually. After a ‘big heal,’ within a few hours they almost always need a ‘big sleep’. Frankly Stiles is amazed Derek’s kept going this long.

“S’late,” Derek says, “You wanna stay over?”

“Was planning too,” says Stiles with a yawn.

“Cool. I’ll get–”

“I know where the bed linen is,” Stiles says forcing himself to his feet, and then reaching out a hand and tugging Derek up. “Don’t worry. I can sort myself out.”

More often than he cares to admit he ends up sleeping on Derek’s couch, too tired to drive back to his dad’s after a long night of research. As the only two original pack members living in Beacon Hills at present, they started out being thrown together for supernatural emergencies. Over the last few months, though, they’ve begun to just hang out just for the sake of it, enjoying each others company. Sometimes they’ll watch a movie, or eat a meal together, sometimes they’ll just talk. It’s been happening more and more. Case in point: This will be the third time this week Stiles has stayed over and the only one that’s been preceded by a supernatural crisis.

If he’s honest with himself, now that Scott is post-grad in Wisconsin, finishing up his veterinarian training, Derek Hale has officially graduated from pain in Stiles’ ass and reluctant ally, to one of his best friends. Who’da thunk?

If sixteen year old Stiles could see him now he would be shocked.

It’s become so commonplace for Stiles to sleep over now, they have a whole routine which they perform almost on autopilot. Load the dishwasher together. Sort the recycling. Box up any leftovers from dinner and put them in the fridge to take to work tomorrow. Close the big window so the noise from early morning traffic doesn’t wake Stiles before he’s ready. Double check the apartment door is locked. Pour two glasses of water, one for each of them.

It’s a perfectly choreographed dance, they both know their parts, and tired as Derek is, he still insists on contributing, even now. The only difference is that this time it’s Stiles who goes and collects the spare bed sheets from the linen closet, and the extra pillow from Derek’s bed.

He’s just reached the bottom of the twisty spiral staircase, his arms full of bed linen, as Derek shuffles towards him, shoulders slumped, eyes heavy lidded, a glass of water clutched in one hand.

“Got everything?” he asks, barely repressing a yawn.

“Yeah,” Stiles grins sleepily.

Derek nods. “‘K,” he says. “Night.” And as he passes Stiles he leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Stiles goes perfectly still, mouth falling open, eyes following Derek’s progress up the stairs. He sees the moment when Derek realizes what he’s done because he pauses, his back to Stiles, hand clenching the rail in a white knuckle grip, posture totally rigid.

“Night,” Stiles says, voice coming out a little hoarse.

After a beat Derek continues his progress up the stairs. He doesn’t look back. Doesn’t say anything else. And eventually Stiles goes and makes up his bed on the couch, even though he’s certain it’s a pointless exercise, because right now he’s certain the last thing he’ll be able to do is relax enough to fall asleep.

By the time Stiles finally manages to shut his brain off and drifts into restless slumber, the sky is pink, and dawn is creeping over the horizon.

He’s woken the next day by the sound of Derek moving around the kitchen.

Stiles cracks an eye, reaches out a hand for his phone and jabs roughly at it, the screen flickers to life.

It’s afternoon. They’ve both slept in. Stiles clenches his eyes shut, feigning sleep.

He doesn’t quite know what to do. Are they going to talk about what happened? Or just ignore it? What did it mean? Was it a friend thing? It didn’t feel like a friend thing. But it was hardly a declaration of romantic intent either.  Stiles had spent last night with all these questions buzzing around his head like a swarm of confused bees. Now he’s awake again and he still doesn’t have any answers.

Stiles groans inwardly. This is exactly the kind of situation that he hates, and in an ideal world he would have woken early and sneaked out to avoid any awkwardness.

Except, no. That’s not true. He wouldn’t do that.

Not to Derek.

Maybe there would have been a time– but not now.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts he doesn’t hear Derek’s soft footsteps, and he almost jumps out of his skin when Derek looms over him, carrying two steaming cups of coffee. Stiles flails, almost tumbling off the couch in surprise.

“Hey,” Derek says, smirking slightly.

“Hey.” Stiles wrestles himself into a seated position, and pulls his sheets around himself in a blanket burrito. Then he sticks out a hand and takes the offered coffee.

With a sigh, Derek takes a seat opposite him on the coffee table, and cups his own mug between his palms. For a long moment neither of them say anything.

“So,” Stiles says, clearing his throat awkwardly, eyes darting around the apartment. “How ‘bout them Mets, eh?”

Derek raises one eyebrow and stares at him. “Stiles–”

“Did you see deGrom–”

“Stiles.”

Stiles sniffs. “Yeah?”

“Is it weird?”

Stiles clutches his mug to his chest with one hand, the other twisting the bed sheets nervously. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. In the end he goes with the truth. “It was weird because it wasn’t weird,” he admits, chancing a glance at Derek.

Derek lets go of a breath and it seems to whoosh out of him, shoulders slumping, maybe in relief. “Yeah.”

“I mean–” Stiles says, “I haven’t ever consciously thought about us like that before, but it felt– It felt right.”

“Natural,” Derek agrees.

“Like we’d always been doing it. Or we could have been.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence, and then something occurs to Stiles. “Are we–” Stiles pauses. Considers. Takes another run at the sentence. “Have we been dating?”

Derek scrunches his face up thoughtfully. Eventually he says, “I think maybe we have.”

“Huh.” They both take a sip from their respective coffees.

“So, are we gonna keep doing– that–” Stiles gestures between them. “then?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, nodding. “Obviously. Unless you don’t–”

“No. It’s good. I’m good. Just checking.”

“Good.”

Stiles takes another long sip of his coffee, and opposite him Derek does the same.

“You want some breakfast?” Derek asks.

“Do we have bacon?”

“And eggs.”

“Noice.”

Derek scowls at that word, but he gets to his feet, and Stiles drains the rest of his coffee, then stands too. He still has the bed sheet cocooned around himself.

“Can we have waffles too?” he asks.

Derek nods.

“Will you use your fancy pants waffle iron?”

Derek rolls his eyes. Smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

Stiles leans into him a little nudges their shoulders together. “Your waffles are the best waffles.”

“Thanks,” Derek says gruffly.

“I’m serious. I spent most of last night awake thinking about it and they’re pretty much the only waffles I want from now on.” Stiles stares at him seriously. “They’ve basically ruined me for all other waffles.”

Derek snorts. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, but he looks pleased.

Stiles shuffles closer, leans in a little further, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, an echo of the first kiss Derek gave him. Derek turns into it a little, so their lips finally meet just so. When they finally break apart, they’re both smiling.

Together they head into the kitchen and make breakfast.

Here’s the Insatiable tea

Satire is apparently dead because everyone is taking it Super Serious, the shit you’re seeing about it being bi and fatphobic are trash because they were written by people who didn’t finish the show, it was a goddamn rollercoaster ride that I couldn’t bring myself to get off of, and can y’all seriously be complaining about Debby Ryan wearing a fat suit, it would be cruel to force an actress gain and lose weight at such a quick rate just to avoid a fatsuit, and THATS the tea

anonymous asked:

Wouldn’t it be just perfect if Ben redeemed himself then pulled a Solo by promising not to get in Rey’s way or mess up Rey’s life

HE WOULD HE’S SO STUPID

But then ofc Rey would have to pull a Leia and be like ‘this dumb bitch, I love him sfm’ and pull him in for a kiss

Bonus points if Ben makes this face:

anonymous asked:

Logan, Patton and Roman wake up a large bang downstairs. Roman has his sword out as they go downstairs. They find the source in the kitchen. Virgil covered in pancake batter slowly cursing to himself. He was trying to make everyone breakfast. Gets embarrased and the others help him clean up/make it... Just an idea. Please expand it into a one shot. Im not very good at writing. ❤

hey, anon? i love you with my entire heart and soul


Really, how hard could it be? Patton did this every morning and Virgil even sometimes accompanied him. Admittedly, it was when Virgil hadn’t slept and was exhausted and mostly just sat on the counter and watched Patton work, but still. Virgil had watched Patton make pancakes before! There was no reason he shouldn’t be able to do it, too!

He stood a moment longer, glaring in disdain at the mixing bowls and the ingredients. He’d never wished so badly for some magic from the Fantasy Realm to just do this for him. Sure, it wouldn’t be the same as making breakfast for his family the others, but at least it would be done, and it would be the thought that counted, right?

Virgil sighed and got to work. He measured the dry ingredients perfectly, cracked the eggs without letting a single piece of shell in, added cinnamon and vanilla like Patton did— If the smell was anything to go by, he was doing an alright job. He set on making eggs and bacon, too, knowing Logan would have something to say if there wasn’t any protein on their plates.

It had been going well until the alarm on his phone started ringing. He’d forgotten to turn it off and in his panic to do so now so as not to wake the others, a lot of things happened at once. He dropped his phone, bumped into the sizzling pan of bacon which sent it crashing to the floor, and when he tried to catch it, all he did was knock his elbows into the bowl of pancake batter, which upended the whole thing onto himself.

Damn it, Virgil,” he hissed, “way to go, you had one job.”

Quite suddenly, the others were in the archway to the kitchen. Roman stood at the front, sword drawn. His hair was messy and it looked like he’d haphazardly thrown his sash on over his pajamas. “Fear not!” He cried, voice still thick with sleep, “Prince Roman has arrived to save—”

“Virgil?” Patton asked blearily, rubbing at one of his eyes.

Logan looked the most put together of them all as he snapped his fingers. Patton’s glasses appeared in his hand and he offered them to the other, who gratefully took them. “You’re up awfully early,” Logan observed, eyes narrowing, “did you sleep at all last night?”

“Yes!” Virgil answered too quickly and the frown on Patton’s lips spurred him to continue before anybody else could speak up. “For a bit! Promise! I… I was going to make breakfast,” he admitted, shifting a little uneasily, suddenly hyperaware of how stupid he must’ve looked. His fears were realized when Roman started giggling until he was leaning into Logan, gasping for air.

Patton was smiling fondly at him and Logan… Logan looked flustered? “It was one time, Roman!” He shoved the prince off of him and Roman wiped at the tears in his eyes. He grinned at Virgil and it was like looking directly at the sun.

“The first time Logan tried to make us breakfast, the fire alarm went off. Everything was so burnt, it was completely unsalvageable.”

“If I recall correctly,” Logan interrupted, “the first time you tried to make breakfast—” Roman launched himself at Logan, slapping a hand over his mouth.

Patton shook his head and squeezed passed the two. He took Virgil’s hands in his and smiled sweetly at him. “I appreciate you so much, kiddo,” he said, sincerely, and Virgil tried to duck into his hoodie before remembering he was still in his pajamas. “You forgot the most important thing, though,” Patton continued seriously, and Virgil waited, expecting to be scolded.

Patton conjured an apron instead. It was purple and black because of course it was. “Let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll make breakfast together, okay?” Patton asked gently. By this point, Roman and Logan had stopped fighting, and we’re already moving seamlessly around the kitchen. After Virgil changed, he was surprised at how easily he joined the others his family, working together like a well oiled machine. The rest of the day felt warm and fuzzy and soft.

If Patton made breakfast alone far less often in the mornings following, he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

anonymous asked:

That scene wasnt just romantic it was sexy, it was the start of romantic sexual tension another thing that we will see with them going on crescendo until the climax this season (aka passionate kiss and confession )and was a foreshadowing of their coming sex scene maybe not this season but for sure next.

Yes, I dare say that you’re right, Nonnie. ^^^ This shot is not just regularly intimate, because it has sexual undertones. The camera is focused (the close-up is really important, because this doesn’t happen when the two characters touching are platonic. It just doesn’t. Sorry to burst your bubble, antis) on Bellamy’s hand, his fingers are so close to her bare skin, and we as an audience are supposed to notice this. We’re meant to feel the sparks in this moment, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think that this shot was part of a sex scene.

Because it’s framed like that. It’s framed to look as if he’s in a position to take her tank top off at any second.

We’re not stupid, guys. 

anonymous asked:

requests: soulmate au for bucky and bucky/reading being drunk and snuggly

no soulmate in this one!! snuggly bucky!

They’re friends. They’re best friends. She’s beautiful, and she’s the best person in his life, and honest to god, he thinks that when he’s sober.

She steals his fries off his plate and he wants to yell but she looks like she’s just done something naughty and the mischief in her eyes is so adorable he always lets it go.

She likes to tie her hair up and hang out in his apartment bare faced and she’s still so gorgeous, and he thinks so much of her. She’s more than that, though. She’s kind, and sweet, and stays up with him when he’s having all nighters, brings coffee and affection.

So he’s here now, with an Uber driver taking them to her place, where she’ll take care of him till morning. His heart is bursting with affection. He looks up at her from where his head lays in his lap, and he wants to kiss her.

“You’re pretty,” he sounds a bit off, “So, so pretty.”

“Do I?” She sounds like she’s kidding with him, indulgent, and he pouts. She doesn’t believe him.

“No. No, baby, you gotta know, you’re the best, his drunken state doesn’t notice the pause she makes, the halt in how she plays with his hair. He’s never talked to her that way before. “You’re the prettiest girl in the world.”

“You think so?”

“‘Course. You’re gonna get a great guy, and ‘m gonna hate him.”

She laughs at that. Lord, that laugh.

“Why?”

“Cos he’s gonna get you. An’ I wan’ you.”  

He falls asleep then, and he doesn’t notice the sharp gasp she takes in. He wouldn’t know, even in his waking hours, what those words do to her.

anonymous asked:

For the kissing prompt: on the sidewalk, first kiss, logince (Logan starts it ???)

ship: romantic logince / wc: 660


this was exactly what roman had been worried about.

he and logan had been friends for years now, along with virgil and patton. their group was good. nice. great! even if roman and virgil disagreed sometimes, or roman and logan debated a bit too heatedly, or logan and patton had trouble compromising; they were all really important to each other. somewhere down the line, roman had went and got feelings for logan. feelings he had been denying for months because he didn’t want to ruin the nice dynamic they had. if roman and logan tried to date, then things could go terribly wrong, and then their group would be awkward, and it would just go downhill from there.

unfortunately, roman had gone and vented to virgil about his feelings, and virgil had not only insisted but demanded roman go and ask logan out. said something about how logan liked him back but that was just ridiculous. said something about how logan had been venting to patton all this time, too, but that was just ridiculous

it got a whole lot less ridiculous when logan said yes.

double unfortunately, all of roman’s fears had come to life throughout the course of the night. he had apparently not fully booked their reservation at the restaurant and so they’d been turned away. afterwards, they’d stopped by a food truck before wandering through a nearby park. but then they’d been attacked by a raccoon and roman had thrown his burrito at it to make it go away, so then he was grumpy and hungry. logan had offered to share but roman didn’t want his date going hungry, too, because that just wasn’t very chivalrous, now was it? 

to make matters even worse, on their way back to the apartment they all shared, a car had gone speeding by, splashing leftover water onto the sidewalk from the typical 3pm florida storm, and soaking roman completely (who had been walking on the pavement closer to the road for this exact reason and also to keep logan safe but he didn’t think anything would actually happen). 

it was by far the worst first date roman had ever been on and he was sure logan felt the same. roman was gearing up for logan to turn him down as gently as possible, since they were friends, but that didn’t mean it was any less terrifying. he had half a mind to just speak up first himself, say something about how logan deserved better, and he was just turning towards logan to do so, when logan leaned into his space, and pressed their lips together. 

roman, understandably startled, reeled back in surprise. 

logan, looking the way he did when he got the jeopardy answer correct before the contestant did, rose his eyebrows. 

“i… uh… you?”

“are you always this articulate?”

okay, well logan being all smug and handsome and quoting disney at him was definitely not fair. roman frowned. 

“i don’t understand,” he started. “tonight went dreadfully. nothing went as planned! we had to get dinner from a food truck, a raccoon attacked us, i’m dripping wet!” roman complained. “how is any of that at all attractive?”

“you bought me dinner, protected me from possibly contracting rabies, and kept me from getting drenched.” logan counted each point off on his fingers, “and despite your less than enthusiastic response, i’d say our first kiss wasn’t terrible.” 

“our… first…” roman’s entire face went bright red. 

“you’re impossible,” logan said fondly. he took roman’s hand in his and began pulling him along down the sidewalk, further towards home. “let’s get you in something warm before you catch a cold. perhaps patton has cookies and hot chocolate waiting for us as well.” 

by the time roman was dozing off that night, curled up and snug with logan, with kiss swollen lips and love bites covering his neck, he was beginning to think he owed the raccoon a thank you

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