twerkin bitches

Pig (Combo Post)

You and Dylan were living together as you both worked on the Teen Wolf set.

You were more behind the scenes while Dylan was obviously in front of the camera. During the previous season, the first time you worked there, the two of you had become friends. When he said that he was looking for a place to stay, you offered the extra room in your apartment.

You warned him beforehand that it was probably more girly than he was used to when he lived with the guys, but it was also going to be cleaner. He had agreed to stay at your place, helping out with rent and groceries.

So for a few months while Teen Wolf was shooting, you had a roommate.

And it was time for both of you to get to work.

“Dylan!” you call again.

Dylan comes in, rubbing his eyes. He has crazy bed head and is lacking a shirt.

“Couldn’t have put a shirt on?“

He grunts in response, obviously not in the mood for your jokes yet.

"Well sleeping beauty, I made eggs and coffee. Want some?”

“Yeah,” he says, laying his head down on the counter.

“You getting a shower before we go?”

He just shakes his head, head still down.

“Alright, whatever.”

You put a place full of eggs and bacon in front of him, along with a smoking cup of coffee.

“Dude, if you don’t get your ass moving you’re going to make both of us late. What’s your deal? I thought you were in bed before me?”

“Britt called me late last night,” he states groggily.

“Oh?” you raise your eyebrows.

“No don’t ‘oh’ me, it’s nothing bad.”

“Okay?”

“She just does not understand the concept of a thing called time difference.”

You laugh, “So how’s good ol’ Brittany doing?”

He smiles, “She’s good. She’s excited to visit. You’re still sure you’re okay with her staying over here?”

“Yes for the millionth time. I don’t care if she stays her.”

By now, Dylan has dove into his breakfast.

“How was your date last night by the way?”

“Ugh. Never let me allow Tyler to set me up again.”

“That bad?” Dylan chuckles.

“The dude ended up being this super arrogant, close-minded pig.”

“Oh no! The horror!” Dylan mocks.

You roll your eyes, “Shut up. It’s not funny. Why would Tyler even set me up with someone like that?”

“The pig part. Definitely the pig part. He saw how pig like you are. Thought you two hogs would hit it off.”

“I hate you,” you say, shaking your head.

“Nah you love me.”

“Ha. You wish.”

“I have a girlfriend. I already have someone who loves me. I don’t need your love.”

“You are the biggest liar ever. You’d be lost without me. ‘Brittany isn’t calling me back! What did I do?’ 'How do I iron this shirt?’ 'Can you make me breakfast?’ 'Can you make sure I get up on time?’ 'How does this look?’ 'What should I get Britt for our anniversary?’” you mock.

He puts his hands in the air, surrendering. “Okay, you got me.”

“Hell yeah I got you. Speaking of which, go get dressed man. We gotta leave in 5.”

“Shit!” Dylan says, jumping out of the chair and running to his room.

“Sometimes I’m more your mom than your friend,” you yell after him.

“Go best friend that’s my best friend that’s my best friend!” You and Dylan scream at each other before bursting into laughter as both of you attempt to twerk.

“Oh my god Dylan, what is that?” you cackle.

“I’m twerkin’ bitch!” he yells.

“That ain’t twerkin’!” you yell back.

It was a Friday, after work. You and Dylan had gotten a little…rowdy.

To say it honestly, it was the first chance the two of you could get sloppy drunk together at the apartment since Britt left.

You loved having her at your place, it was nice to have another girl around and someone else to pick on Dylan with. Teasing Dylan was one of your favorite hobbies.

But she had to leave and you and Dylan had a ritual. If you broke up with a boy or whenever Dylan and Britt had to leave each other, the two of you would drown your sadness in liquor the first chance neither of you had to do something the next day.

Today was finally that day.

So you cranked up the stereo and got out the bottles. There was dancing, loud singing-essentially yelling, and lots and lots of drinking.

It was fun. It was carefree and fun.

“Oh my god, change the song!” you yell over the music as you pour two more shots.

Dylan sways over to go change the song, accidentally playing some sad, slow song.

“What the hell?” you hear him say. “Get the fuck outta here,” he says to the speakers.

You chuckle to yourself, the fact that he’s literally talking to an object is too funny.

He changes the song, again, and comes waltzing into the kitchen where you are.

“Yaaass,” he says in his best white-girl voice, “Shotssss.”

You smile, “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” he echoes, meeting your shot glass.

The rest of the evening consists of more drinking, dancing, laughing, and carrying on.

And eventually you both pass out.

“Oh why do we do this to ourselves?” you moan, unmoving from the seat you’ve woken up from.

All you hear is a grunt from Dylan on the couch.

You consider getting up but decide that sleeping some more is the better option.

After an undetermined amount of time, you wake up again, this time to the smell of eggs and bacon.

“What are you doing?” you murmur, shoving your face into the cushion.

“I’m being mom this time.”

“Why?”

“Because I apparently drank more water between shots and am in far better working condition than you.”

“Mmm.”

“So, I made some eggs and bacon.”

“I don’t wanna eat,” you whine.

“Alright, then will you drink some water for me?”

“Drink your own damn water.”

He chuckles, “Y/N, you know that’s not what I mean-”

“I don’t care.”

“Y/N, please drink some water.”

You only moan some more.

“Dylan,” you while again.

“Y/N, I’m only trying to help you. Here, let me get you some water. And then you’re going to do what I say and drink it.”

“Why are you so mean and bossy?” you ask as he gets up and moves into the kitchen.

“Why are you still drunk?” he teases.

“I’m not still drunk. How could I still be drunk? It’s morning.”

“Actually it’s afternoon and I think you’re still drunk. Now drink this,” he says, coming back into the room and handing you a water.

You begrudgingly do as he says, hating him a little for making you move.

“Good. Now, do you want to eat something?”

“No, I just want to sleep.”  

“Okay…”

“I can’t move.”

He laughs, “Yes you can.”

“Can you carry me?”

“Are you serious?” he asks, bewildered.

“Yes, I can’t do it.”

“Alright fine, jeez you’re such a princess.”

You wrap your arms around his neck as he picks you up into his arms. He carries you into your room, tucking you into bed.

“Why are you so mean to me?”

“Mean to you? I just carried you into your room.”

“You call me names.”

“Names?”

“Yeah, you called me a pig and a princess, and last night you called me a bitch. Why don’t you like me?”

“Y/N, you know that’s not true. You know I love you, you’re my best friend.”

“Well you’re my best friend but I don’t say mean things to you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Mkay, I forgive you,” you say, already slipping back to sleep.

“I need a man,” you announce, throwing your phone to the side.

“Yes you do,” Dylan agrees. He doesn’t even bother to turn away from the game on TV. He just takes another sip of beer.

“Shut up,” you say as you playfully smack him.

“Hey! Watch it! I have a drink in my hand. Besides, I’m right. You need to get laid or something. Find a…a hobby,” he adds with a wink.

“Oh my god, you did not.”

He smirks, “Yes. I believe I did.”

“I hate you,” you laugh.

“Liar.”

“No, pretty sure I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Did you order that pizza yet?”

You roll your eyes, “Yes, I ordered the pizza.”

“Awesome. How soon will it be here?”

“Like 15.”

The game cuts to a commercial and Dylan turns towards you.

“Okay, now listen up. You don’t need a guy. I don’t know why the fuck you think you do, but you don’t. Guys are dumb and stupid, and they just distract you and get you all bothered. You don’t need a guy,” he says seriously.

“Interesting considering you’re a guy.”

“I’m your friend. And trust me when I say you don’t need a guy.”

“Thanks Dylan,” you blush.

“Alright, now grab my wallet and pay for the pizza.”

You smile, hopping up from the couch. You find Dylan’s wallet and open it to get the money, only a condom falls out.

“Dylan are you serious?” you ask, holding it up for him to see.

He shifts in his seat to see you, and color immediately rushes to his cheeks.

“Uh…”

“Now Dylan, I’m glad that you are being safe and using protection, but make sure you are doing it for the right reasons,” you mock in your best suburban-mom-gives-the-birds-and-the-bees impression.

“Oh my god, shut up,” Dylan chuckles, rolling his eyes.

Now you’re the one smirking. “I just want to make sure you don’t do anything you’ll regret later,” you continue the impression.

“Why do you love pretending to be my mom so much? Hm?”

“Dylan, didn’t you know? I am your mom!” you reply sarcastically.

“Okay, now I hate you.”

“Good,” you smile.

“Hey hun-” Dylan yells from his room.

“Hun? You are you callin’ hun?” you smirk.

“Oh my god,” you hear him say to himself. Then you hear him walking to find you. And what you find on his face is a look of sheer horror.

“Okay, okay. I totally did not mean to call you that. Like it just slipped. I didn’t mean to, I don’t know why. I was thinking about Britt, and I would call her hun, and then I called for you and…and…”

“Dyl calm down,” you laugh, “I get it. It happens. Don’t worry.”

“I’m really sorry, I really didn’t mean to-” he continues.

“Dylan,” you scold, “knock it off. I’m serious. It’s not a big deal.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to settle his guilt.

“Now, what were you going to ask me?”

“Um… I was going to ask you about our plans for this thing… Like, what am I? Your escort? Or your chaperone? Ohh! Or your wingman? Okay, but seriously, why do you need, or even want, me to go to this thing?”

“Dylan, Dylan, Dylan,” you shake your head, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You simply do not understand. See, as a best friend, it is your duty to go with me to events like this to protect me. So basically, you’re all three of those things for me tonight. I need a date. I need someone to make sure that if some creep tries something on me you get me out safely. Or if there’s someone I don’t like, you get me the hell away from them. And, you know, I mean, you’re always my wing man.”

“Oh great,” he rolls his eyes, “I never signed up to be your best friend. Therefore, these rules should not apply.”

“Oh shut up. You know I’d do it for you. Wait, I have done it for you. So ha. Now go fix that tie, I don’t need to look like I associate with pigs like you.”

“I thought you were the pig?” he asks while walking to a mirror.

“I think we both very well know who the real pig is. The title belongs to you. You leave the toilet seat up, you leave crumbs everywhere when you eat, and honestly when was the last time you did your laundry? Or truly saw your floor?”

“Okay, okay, no need to point fingers here. Didn’t you say we’re all friends?”

“Yeah only if you sign the agreement.”

“Oh we have friendship contracts now?” he mocks.

“I mean, sometimes it’s just needed. I can’t have you calling me honey all the time now can I?”

“I told you it was an accident!”

You give a big, goofy, devious smile.

“I know,” you add with a wink.

“Dylan are you and Y/N dating?”

“Dylan what happened to Britt?”

“Have you and Britt broken up?”

“Dylan what does this mean for relationship status?”

That’s what all the paparazzi and reporters and fans were yelling at you (and more) as you stepped from the car to the few feet to the entrance of the shin-dig that you got Dylan to go along as your date.

You didn’t think about how it would look to everyone else, how everyone would automatically be drawn to Dylan, or how shitty the whole ordeal would make you feel.

And that was only you trying to walking in.

Dylan kept his head down and his hand on your back, helping guide you inside.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” Dylan says as soon as you’ve entered and the doors close.

You’re stunned, at a loss for words-something very unusual for you. Luckily, the two of you are quickly shuffled to a new location to where your special event is taking place.

Your event.

The rest of the night was fairly uneventful. You couldn’t shake that oddly depressing feeling from when you and Dylan entered. People were nice towards you, a few guys flirted but nothing major. A lot of people were intrigued by Dylan, several girls flirted with him.

You were surprised by how jealous you were of the attention Dylan was getting. You were mad at yourself for being jealous. Dylan was your best friend after all. You should have been happy of his success, of his accomplishments, and the people he’s gained supporting him.

And of course you were, all the time. But it was disappointing that this was supposed to be about you, about your newest movie that was coming out.

Sure, you weren’t the main star or anything, but you wanted this to be about you. Or at least more about you.

You just didn’t think about all the attention that would be given over Dylan. Which also made you feel guilty. He’s your best friend.

When it was all over, you and Dylan struggled to get into the car, everyone in your face hoping to draw something from one of you.

You didn’t say anything during the car ride home and went straight to your room to change out of your clothes into something more comfortable. You ran into him in the kitchen when you were trying to grab a beer and mumbled, “Thanks for going with me.”

“Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything, I hope you had a good time,” you feign.

“I hope you did too,” he says sadly.

You and Dylan have been on rocky, awkward terms to say it at best. He was still living with you, but the conversations have been forced and uncomfortable.

Really, the two of you were just avoiding each other. It had been working out for you guys at work. Neither had to be on set at the same time.

This evening was no different, except for the fact that Tyler had invited everyone on set to go to karaoke and wings night at a local bar.

You had indulged with Tyler’s want to get tipsy. And then drunk.

And then plastered.

Holland, being the mom of the group as always, was trying to take responsibility of you in your disoriented self.

“Sweetie, please drink some water. Like a lot of water.”

“Nah, nah, nah. I don’t need water. I need another shot!” you yelled.

“Y/N, I really think you need some water, and maybe your bed.”

“Oooh, my bed! I love my bed, I’d love to go to bed…No, just kidding, I wanna stay out with you guys!”

“I’m going to call Dylan and have him pick you up.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, “Psht. I don’t need Dylan-”

“Y/N,” she looked at you skeptically.

“Holland,” you mimic.

She ignores you and calls Dylan. Dylan, for reasons you cannot fathom, picks you up.

He did more than just pick you up actually.

He drove to the bar, somehow convinced you to leave the bar (which was quite a task), half dragged you out, got you into his car, got you home, picked your passed out ass out of the passenger seat and into your room.

You woke up the next morning, unable to remember what happened. Instead, there was a glass of water and a note: Y/N, text me when you’re up I’ll make breakfast. -Dyl

You texted Dylan as you were told, and he sweetly brought you pancakes shortly after.

“Hey, how’s the hangover?” he asked.

“Well it’s a hangover, so…”

“Yeah, that’s why I thought pancakes would be best.”

“Good call,” you lightheartedly joke.

“Alright well…” he mutters as he gets ready to leave your room.

“Wait Dylan-” you say before you stop yourself.

“Yeah?”

“Um…what happened last night?”

“I think Tyler convinced you to keep up with him, and he’s a tank so you were screwed over from the get-go. Holland had been drinking too so she called me and I picked you up.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What embarrassing or hurtful thing did I say to you?” you regrettably question.

“Nothing,” he answers uncertainty.