For you, my dear, I had planned to write some bottom Derek smut, but all my ideas for this had feelings all over them. So I wrote them all instead of picking one. I hope you enjoy it!
Four times Stiles and Derek say “Don’t go,” and two times they are exactly where they want to be (for @pale-silver-comb)
Derek’s voice is sleep roughened but edged with a practiced concerned awareness, gained from too many late night emergency phone calls, “Stiles? What’s wro-”
“Derek!” Sites interrupts with his usual exuberance, tinged with the softened slur of unaccustomed drunkenness, and Derek relaxes marginally as Stiles continues. “How are you man? I haven’ seen you in like- wha’ time izzit?” Stiles whips his phone away from his ear to check the time, but he’s too intoxicated to fight his own momentum and ends up twirling after the arc of his arm, stumbling. He barely manages to catch himself before he falls to the ground, but Derek is on his feet and getting dressed as soon as he hears the muttered “Oh, shit.”
Before he can yell for the human, he hears an honest to god giggle through the tiny speaker, and he relaxes ever so slightly. He can hear the indistinct baseline of something irritating and popular distantly playing in the background, the sound of the wind a low whistle through the phone line, and Stiles, laughing.
“Stiles, where are you?” Derek is grabbing his keys and toeing on shoes as he prepares to collect the human before he can get into trouble. Beacon Hills is relatively safe, if you don’t count the supernatural threats, but a good looking and clearly intoxicated seventeen year old shouldn’t be out wanting the streets at one thirty in the morning.
“I wuzzat a party with Scott. But he left with this girl, an’ he said I shouldn’ stay long, but he was ‘sposed to be my ride, and Der’k, I’m drunk,” he finishes seriously. “I’m drunk, an’ I can’t call my dad, and you’re like, my bes’ friend, an’ your car is awesome, an’ i-“
Derek is caught off guard by the sincerity in Stiles’ voice, but he focuses on the rising panic and cuts him off with a gentle, “Hey, just tell me where you are, I’ll be right there.”
Stiles slurs through his location, and Derek is relieved to hear it’s only a few minutes away. He keeps Stiles talking as he speeds to close the distance faster, and the wave of pure relief that washes over him at the sight of Stiles slumped against a lamppost is like an electric shock.
Stiles pours himself into the passenger seat with more grace than he usually possesses and flashes Derek a grateful smile. He’s more tired and regretful drunk than boisterous drunk now, and he lets his head rest heavily against the seat as Derek drives at a much slower speed toward the Stilinski house.
“Thank you for coming to get me, Der,” Stiles’ voice is clearer, but small sounding, his words not quite their usual crispness. “I’m glad it’s you, because I don’t have to worry about not saying how burning hot Derek is, or how I want him to push me up against a wall and kiss me, because you’re not him, and, oh fuck! You’re you!” he says accusingly, as if Derek had forgotten who he was talking to, and not the other way around.
Derek can feel the hot blush color his ears and flash down his neck at the image Stiles paints with his accidental confession.
“Stiles,” he begins, gently, but Stiles doesn’t let him finish.
“Derek, can we please blame the alcohol and forget that pretty much this whole night happened?”
Derek considers it. Stiles is clearly embarrassed, his scent gone sour and his heartbeat unsteady. It would be easy to ignore it, he’s had plenty of practice ignoring his feelings. But if Stiles wants him, and he doesn’t have to pretend he doesn’t want him back- why should he? “What if I don’t want to?”
Stiles gasps, and it sends a shiver down Derek’s spine. “You- what?”
“We’ll talk when you’re-recovered. Alright?”
“Yeah, sure,” Stiles doesn’t sound convinced
After a brief internal argument, Derek reaches over and takes hold of Stiles’ hand and gives a reassuring squeeze. He’s immeasurably gratified when Stiles sighs happily and the tension melts out of him, his scent spiking sharply with contentment, fingers wriggling slightly to settle between Derek’s. Derek can hardly suppress the echoing sigh from his own chest.
Stiles careens back to drunken rambling quick enough to make Derek’s head spin, but since Stiles is now using their clasped hands to gesture as he speaks, he lets a fond smile curl his lips as a steady stream of mostly nonsense tumbles from Stiles’ lips.
As they reach the Stilinski house, Stiles speech has slowed and gone heavy with sleep, Derek tries and fails to not find it endearing, especially in combination with the lazy drag of Stiles’ thumb along the back of his hand. Derek opens the passenger door to assist Stiles in exiting the car, both of them making small surprised sounds when Stiles stumbles and crashes into Derek’s chest. Derek steps back reluctantly, draping Stiles’ arm over his shoulders and holding his waist. Stiles leans heavily against him, murmurs things like “You’re so strong,” and “All that scruff and you’re so soft under the grrr,” as he draws a finger along Derek’s jaw and stares through barely opened eyes gone hazy with sleep and liquor.
Derek manages to get Stiles upstairs and into his bedroom, settles him on the bed and kneels to remove his shoes. Stiles groans above him and something that sounds an awful lot like “Not fair you’re on your knees and I’m too wasted…” and Derek can feel the rush of blood through his entire body as he catches the meaning. By the time Derek is done with Stiles’ shoes, Stiles is flailing above him, half trapped in the sleeves of his shirt. Derek is torn between watching him struggle and helping him, but the strained, frustrated sound Stiles makes pushes him to help. He very pointedly does not look when the overshirt catches his t-shirt, lifting it to reveal a tantalizing strip of creamy pale skin and a hint of hair leading into the waistband of Stiles’ jeans.
As Stiles falls back into the bed, Derek helps to guide him onto the pillow, wrestles the covers from under him and tucks them gently around the sprawling form of Stiles’ body. He can’t help but smooth Stiles’ hair away from his forehead, the gesture hopelessly fond, and Derek is fairly certain he’s never done it so easily before.
Derek turns to leave the room, return to his own bed to try to sleep, knowing the clock will mock him and that all he’ll be able to do is hear Stiles’ drunken declarations on repeat in his head. As he makes to step away from the bed, his feet gone heavy and uncooperative with reluctance, he feels the brush of clumsy fingers at his wrist, wrapping around it in a loose grasp and sending a pleasant tingle through Derek’s arm, settling warmly in his belly.
Stiles’ voice is sleep soft, but steady, the words cutting through Derek painfully, “Don’t go. Please? I don’t want to be alone, I’m always- please. Don’t go.”
In the face of Stiles’ plea, Derek finds himself not only powerless, but having absolutely zero desire to turn back toward the door. The relieved whimper that Stiles releases as Derek drops gently onto the edge of the bed and turns his hand so their palms meet, threading their fingers back together, is like a punch and an embrace all at once.
They wake in the morning wrapped around each other, and it’s shockingly easy to smile at each other as they untangle their twined limbs.
When Derek is visiting Cora, his phone rings, and he smiles at the ridiculous picture Stiles set as his profile. “Hey, you,” he answers fondly, voice going soft and light like it always did now that he and Stiles were DerekandStiles. It quickly bleeds into panic tinged concern at the hitch in Stiles’ breath; the realization that Stiles has been fighting tears, has a reason to be, is a painful weight in Derek’s chest. “What’s wrong, Stiles. What is it?” His urgency is a palpable thing, an uncomfortable sizzle under his skin.
Stiles releases a shuddering breath, “God, I will never not appreciate how the sound of your voice makes everything feel better.” Derek’s worry is ameliorated slightly by the knowledge that he’s a comfort for the hyperactive human he calls his mate.
“I’m glad to hear that, babe, but what’s going on?”
“You’re going to hate it,” Stiles is hesitant, his voice is tinged with uncertainty, and Derek wishes he were there to wrap his arms around Stiles, to hold him and reassure. He makes an affirmative, encouraging sound, “Try me,” he says with more enthusiasm than he feels.
“So, there’s this… thing. Some kind of monster. We haven’t figured it out yet…” Stiles goes on, details a truly horrible plan, one that relies heavily on Scott’s frankly laughable leadership and Stiles as some kind of glorified bait. It’s a shit plan, and Derek does in fact hate it. Hates it so much he’s growling, actually, and it takes Stiles’ pleading “Der, please,” to break him out of it, to wash the red tinge from his vision.
All Derek can do is choke out a pained “Don’t go!” He knows it’s desperate and can’t bring himself to care, “Stiles, please. Please don’t go. This plan is fucking terrible. You know it is. I will get on a plane, I will be there tomorrow morning, just wait. Don’t go, any of you, but you can’t. Please?” He’s begging, and will continue to beg until Stiles agrees, “I can’t lose you. Don’t go. Remember, the night we started this? You asked me the same thing, please, Stiles.”
“Ok, Der, ok, ok. I won’t go. Please, don’t cry. I won’t go.”
Derek takes a deep breath, it catches in his chest, but he pushes past it, “Thank you. Thank you thank you, thank god.”
Derek is on a plane two hours later. Twelve hours after that, Stiles is in his arms; unruly hair sweet smelling and tickling his nose, wide, smiling lips pressed into his own.
When Derek needs to leave Beacon Hills, Stiles understands, he really, truly does. But it also feels like he’s being slowly pulled apart.
They stand quietly in Derek’s loft, silently embracing, Stiles still in his dressy graduation clothes, intermittent tears running down both their faces, until Stiles grips the front of Derek’s shirt tightly, hauls him impossibly close to devour his mouth in a desperate kiss. Their teeth clack, and their tongues swirl together in practiced rhythm, lips dragging slick and wet together. A great, sob of a moan tears out of Stiles’ throat and he buries his face in Derek’s neck.
“I can’t ask you, I know I can’t, but I want to, Der. I want to ask you to stay with me. I want to beg you. To scream ‘Don’t go!’ But I won’t. You deserve to go, to be ha- to find happiness, even if-”
Derek feels his heart breaking; hurting Stiles is killing him. He can’t bear the ache in Stiles’ voice, the sorrow laced through his scent. “Come with me,” rushes past his lips with force and sincerity, and he can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before.
Stiles looks at him, hopeful but unsure, so he kisses the confusion off his face, cradles his jaw with careful hands. “I mean it, Stiles. It’s summer, you don’t start school for months. Come with me. Please?”
The smile that breaks over Stiles’ face is bright and honest, it’s everything Derek loves about the boy.
“Yeah. Ok, yeah, let’s go,” Stiles replies eagerly, peppering Derek’s face with kisses, hands restlessly petting as thigh assuring himself Derek is still there.
Derek laughs lightly, “I thought maybe we’d have a last go in a real bed, before it’s all motel rooms and truck stops for a while. And you know, pack, first.”
Stiles makes a considering sound, “Both good things. I’m especially interested in the first part,” he grins as he grabs Derek’s hands, walking backwards toward the bed.
Two and a half incredible months later, they’re laying naked in a motel bed, tangled together and still catching their breath, trailing gentle fingertips over one another’s faces, cataloging details. Preparing for time apart.
Stiles’ half packed suitcase sits on a luggage stand across the room, taunting them with the short time they have left measured out in clean and dirty socks.
Derek traces the curve of Stiles’ mouth, their eyes searching, but unwilling to leave the others gaze for more than a second or two. “You know-” the words are stuck in his throat, heavy on his tongue, he clears them away with a hard swallow, “I want to ask you. I guess it’s my turn to know better, huh?” He laughs without a traces of humor, and Stiles kisses his furrowed brow, smooths it with a long finger.
“You’re not ready to not be moving, and Berkley is pretty stationary, babe,” Stiles answers easily, his voice tinged with regret. “I understand,”he says, quieter than the rest, but without a stutter in his heartbeat, and Derek would know it’s true even without the added senses. Because Stiles understands Derek probably better than Derek does, and the loss of his constant presence is already aching dully in his chest.
“I’m going to have to say it. Just once. It’s practically tradition, now,” Derek attempts to joke, but the truth is it feels like the words are tearing at his throat.
Stiles kisses him, long and slow, as if to cool the burn of the things he can’t say. It almost works. They part reluctantly, hands and lips both clinging together, and it breaks out of him with a sob, “Don’t go.”
Stiles gathers him close, let’s Derek bury his face in his chest, strokes his back in soothing circles and holds his neck. “I have to,” he says simply, pressing kisses to Derek’s head. “But I promise I’ll always come back to you, wherever you are, until you’re ready.”
When they wake some time later, Stiles has to leave. Derek drives him to the bus station, because Stiles wouldn’t let him set a foot in California until he was ready to. Derek isn’t sure he will be, but he wishes he was now so he could steal those last miles with him.
They wake to cool morning light filtered through the curtains, and the muted sound of a cell phone ringing in the other room.
It’s been six months since they last got to wake up together, and it feels indulgent and surreal all at once. Video chats and constant phone calls and texts are an ok way to bridge the distance, but there is nothing so wonderful as waking up like this. Sleep warm skin and muscled limbs tangled together, warm breath on the back of his neck. Stiles is afraid it’s a dream.
Derek wakes, runs his nose along Stiles neck and places a long, hot kiss there. “Morning,” he says sleepily, arms tightening briefly before he shifts in the bed. Stiles panics, grabs Derek’s forearms in suddenly shaking hands, “Don-.”
Before he can finish, Derek is wrapping himself around him again, “Not going anywhere, babe. You’re not either.”
Stiles takes a deep breath, calms his heartbeat. “Sounds perfect, because I have plans for us that don’t involve leaving this bed unless it’s to hydrate or pee.”
Derek laughs into Stiles’ shoulder, the sound rich and deep, the rumble in his chest echoes through Stiles’ chest pleasantly. “I like the sound of that.”
A small cry pierces the predawn quiet, and Stiles and Derek startle awake at the same time. They blink tiredly at one another for a moment, taking time to acclimate and assess.
Stiles smiles at Derek, notices the slight greying of his still artful stubble, the lines starting to show around his eyes that he knows are from laughter instead of worry.
Derek smiles back, taking in the defined jawline, and the more beard than stubble that his husband has favored these last few years.
They say in unison “I’ll go,” and then laugh, kiss. Let it linger just a moment until the baby reminds them why they’re awake so early. Stiles places a quick kiss on Derek’s cheek, runs his thumb over his jaw briefly.
“You got her down last time, it’s my turn. Go back t’ sleep.” Derek makes a sound that Stiles takes as agreement, and he heads to the nursery across the hall, scooping up the small, unhappy bundle from the crib and settling her against his chest.
When Derek stumbles in moments later, Stiles is in the rocking chair, cradling their daughter and dozing slightly. Derek crosses the distance with a few long strides and moves to take the baby from her current Daddy shaped pillow and back to her own bed, intending to do the same with Stiles after, when he feels familiar fingertips against his wrist.
He looks down to where Stiles is holding him, turns his palm so their fingers thread together with the ease of years of practice. They smile at one another for long moments, until the sun starts to rise and add a warm glow to the soft lilac walls.
Sunday mornings were, in their own way, a magical thing.
There were no requirements and Andrew and Neil existed outside of time, together.
Sunday mornings were an indulgent event that started when Neil woke with the sun. No matter how much Andrew might attempt to bargain with the sun, it still rose at the same early hour every day, waking Neil along with it.
There were no morning runs though, and while Neil woke up early, he stuck around in bed until Andrew was ready to get up for the day.
Sunday mornings were for snoozing until brunch. Neil would wake and go perform his ablutions and climb back in bed, where he had to attempt to wrestle the covers back from Andrew. He never won. It was a practice in futility that took place every Sunday morning, and neither man would trade it for the world.
There were kisses in the morning. Andrew refused to ever get out of bed to brush his teeth until his bladder coerced him out of bed, and even then, did so unwillingly. Neil didn’t think he would ever become accustomed to Andrew’s rank ass breath, but if he kept his mouth closed Neil could avoid the worst of it. He usually ended up straying from Andrew’s mouth anyway.
Sundays mornings were reserved solely for their own form of worship. Namely in one another’s bodies. Reverent but firm touches were interspersed with soft kisses on Andrew’s body. Each time that he complained about his fuzzy teeth from eating cookies in bed or his desperate need to urinate, Neil would hide a smile by finding a new place on Andrew’s body to pepper with kisses. Andrew feeling safe enough to complain about very mundane things made Neil feel like he was over the moon.
There were moments, though, that weren’t so reverent. Andrew wasn’t as concerned with gentling his way across Neil’s body. He would give Neil biting kisses and just on the pleasurable side of rough touches, but they were Neil’s favorite. He loved the way that Andrew expressed himself without censure and without regard for the way that Nicky told them they were supposed to behave.
Sunday mornings were for erasing every moment from the past week where they were told that the way they loved was wrong in some way. Scathing remarks full of empty accusations only ever got a rise out of Neil. Andrew knew what they were, or weren’t, and for the most part never let it bother him. It did bother Neil.
There were reassurances between the men, lying there in the early morning light that took a week’s worth of prejudice off their back. And when Andrew rolled over Neil to brush up against everything before he continued his roll and walked into the bathroom, Neil was left sunk into the bed feeling boneless.
Sunday mornings were for making brunch together. While Andrew brushed his teeth, and went to the restroom, Neil would give himself a full thirty seconds to bask in bliss before he climbed out of bed and padded to the kitchen to make Andrew coffee.
There were not enough things Neil could add to coffee to ever make him want to drink it. He would gladly forfeit his life before partaking in the bitter bean juice. Andrew didn’t even really like it, he was just a caffeine addict and a blonde roast coffee was full of his drug of choice. Neil still had to dump three scoops of powdered, dark Belgian chocolate and fill it past the brim with whipped cream before Andrew would drink it, but there was nothing that could make it palatable to Neil. He preferred Assam tea with honey.
Sunday mornings were for drinking their respective hot beverages across from one another at their little two-person table. They would sandwich their feet together and sit in relative silence while they read the news that morning. Andrew would read the news, while Neil scrolled through exy forums online. When they were finished with their drinks they would go about making brunch together.
There were moments where Neil felt like he and Andrew were two halves of the same whole, in the same way that Nicky talked about Erik. They anticipated one another’s needs in a way that made Neil feel as if they had always been together and would never separate. It was in these moments that occasionally Andrew would let a laugh carry his face into a smile before schooling his features with a gruff cough.
Sunday mornings were now soft and sleepy. They were at one time something that Neil dreaded. There was no practice to distract him from the fact that his life was ending and if he was around Andrew’s group he was likely to see Andrew’s smile on meds. It was something that had an almost regular occurrence in Neil’s nightmares in those first few months of knowing him. Andrew’s smile on his meds split his face open and was full of menace.
There were no more medically induced smiles. Most smiles now came from an overabundance of chocolate where Andrew would quirk up his lips with his cheeks full of some dessert, squishing his eyes with his massive cheeks. Or there were smiles that were full of mischief when Neil was clumsy and tripped over a cat or a loose shoe—those were typically followed by a scathing comment about Neil’s ability to run away leaving him. Or there were the soft, sleepy smiles of contentment; those were Neil’s favorite.
Sunday mornings were now full of contentment. After brunch, when they moved to the couch and Andrew laid long ways on the couch with a book, Neil would worm his way in between Andrew’s legs. Andrew would relent with a huff of facetious annoyance and would lift his arms and set the book back down on Neil’s chest. Neil would wiggle and settle down into Andrew and if he timed it right and looked up right after Andrew sighed in contentment, he would see Andrew’s smile off his meds. That soft smile of contentment, where his eyes and nose crinkle and his eyebrows go up making a little furrow in his brows before it smooths back out.
There were moments, magic moments, on Sunday mornings that Neil decided that he would carry with him until the day that he died. Andrew knew that he would carry those moments long after his death. What he now had was worth facing down vengeful gods to keep.
This is part twelve of a series of Seventeen imagines. Feel free to message me and say who you want to see confessing next! Requests get done fast ;)
Movie nights with Dino have become a tradition lately, and you both managed to make time for at least two per month since you started doing it. That’s why this month, on the very last day, you suddenly receive a panicked text from your best friend saying he just realized that you haven’t had your second movie night yet. He knows he’s been very busy lately with Seventeen things and but he scolds you for not reminding him. The tradition is very important to both of you, after all! And he wants your friendship to be a priority!
It’s very flattering really, considering how much Dino cares about his career, that he would get so worked up over scheduling some time together. You can’t help smiling down at your phone for a while before you shake yourself out of it and reply.
The boys grabbed a glass of water each a popped it onto Jon’s nightstand, getting ready for bed. It was really early, but the pair were knackered from the day.
“Where do you want me to sleep?”
“Well you can just sleep with me? I mean, we got like 7 people in this bed last night, I think it can take me and you without being too bad. Unless you don’t wanna I mean.”
“Nah its cool. You don’t mind me sleeping in my boxers though?”
“No man.” Jon shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, I sleep in mine too.”
Evan started to strip down as Jon went to the bathroom. He came back into find Evan lazily spread in bed, watching him.
“What? Waiting for me to undress are we you damn pervert?”
“Obviously.” Evan smirked, still not taking his eyes from Jon.
Jon slipped out of his clothing, it was kind of awkward the fact that he could still feel Evans eyes on him. A part of him wanted him to stop, but another part didn’t want him too. He felt like he needed to put on some kind of show.
Evan started to feel somewhat heated as Jon started with his top, showing his strong inked arm and defined back and ended with him pulling down his trousers. As he bent down Evan couldn’t help but think about the ass now in his face. It was a fine butt.
“Damn, that bootay though.” Evan exclaimed in his childish voice, leaning over to spank the unexpected Jon. Jon jumped back, frowning as he nearly split the trousers still around his ankles.
“Fuck off you bitch!”
“Or what? You gonna twerk me to death?”
“Don’t temp me!” Jon laughed, falling onto Evan who was still under the cover, wrestling him.
“You know I am stronger than you!” Evan cried, slamming Jon into the uncovered bed. Jon was laughing like a maniac as he got over excited and became giddy. He hadn’t felt like such a child in ages.
“Yeah, but I have legs for days!” Jon replied, wrapping the unsuspecting Evan in his legs and rolling him back around so he was sat on top of him.
“Yeah but-” Evan’s smirked, un-linking his hands from Jon’s. “I’m not ticklish.”
Shook formed on Jon’s face as he tried to wiggle away, but Evan had already got a firm grip on his wrist, his other hand making it’s way to Jon’s armpit.
“That’s not fair!” Jon cried before he exploded with laughter. “Stop Ev-”
“I’m going to die!” Jon was in tears, falling off of the bed as he tried to get away.
“Oh shit, are you alright?” But Evan already knew the answer. Jon was laughing hard and he laid on the floor, looking up at Evan. It was a high excitable laugh as he found himself in a fit of hysterics.
Evan smiled, watching Jon laugh was so endearing.
“I thought I was gonna damn die or somethin-”
Evans phone suddenly started to ring, cutting off Jon, causing the pair to jump .
Evan stared, stretching across to the nightstand to answer, with Jon watching him from the floor.
It was Georgia.
“Look, Evan, I’m really sorry about what I said, and I didn’t mean it and I just wanted to tell you so. Please forgive me.”
Evan paused, looking over towards Jon who’s eyes were piercing his flesh with worry planted on his pretty little face.
“G, I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t of ignored you for my friends. I mean, I still stand by what I said but, it’s not your fault. You’re a really sweet girl, and I’m sure you’ll find someone better.”
“G you know this isn’t going to work like it used too.”
“I know Evan, I just wanted to tell you that I was sorry for the whole thing, and to break up in a mature manner. I didn’t want us to leave on a bad note Ev. I really did love you. It was just we were falling apart already, and I think that made us crack.”
Evan could still feel eyes on him.
“Hey, look, it was amazing whilst it lasted. Have a good life. Night, night Georgie.”
The phone went dead, and so did Evans heart. The girl he had spent the last 2 years with had gone and was never coming back. He had seen them getting married, having children, having a life together but it was broken in just a few ‘night night’s to each other.
It was true that they had been on a bad road, hence why Georgia wanted to come with Evan on his trip.
Evan had been flirting with other people, and Georgia had been cheating on a few drunken nights out. They were as bad as each other.
Evan suddenly felt a hand on his back, twisting around his hip. It was going to be okay, Jon was here.
“You wanna talk about it?” Jon muttered, who had come from his laying position on the floor to sit next to Evan on the side of the bed.
Evan shrugged, he didn’t know what to say. He was heartbroken. It was enviable, but it still hurt knowing it was finally over.
Jon hummed lightly, he couldn’t let Evan go to bed now.
“Want me to go to the shop and get a fuck ton of ice-cream?”
Evan looked towards Jon, he didn’t want to cry, but he was anyway.
“Hey, I didn’t know you liked ice-cream that much!” Jon joked, pulling the misty eyed man into his arms. He felt him try and laugh at his joke for it to come out in sobs.
“It’s gonna be okay Ev.” He whispered, rubbing the circles into his back.
“That’s going to be the last goodbye I’ll ever give her.” Evan sobbed, rubbing his wet eyes onto Jon’s bare skin.
“I know, but that’ll mean you have a chance for another hello.” Jon stated, causing Evan to frown.
“That made more sense in my head.”
Evan smiled slightly, which was an achievement for Jon.
“Let’s get you some damn good ice cream.”
He felt bad when he left Evan tucked into his covers, on his laptop. He was scared he was going to do something stupid, like message her.
He was at the shop down the road, with a pair of sweatpants, trainers and a loss top on. He wished he had put some kind of jumper on though, as the air was nippy and the frozen isle gave him goosebumps.
He had told him he’d get a fuck ton of ice-cream, but after doing laundry today he had very little change so he grabbed Evan’s favourite favour, cookie dough, in the shitist brand name and paid.
Worried, he ran back towards his house, finding Evan to be searching up flats.
“I thought I was going to find you making yourself even more sad.” Jon said, handing Evan the tub and a spoon.
“Oh I love Little Pops own brand of ice-cream.” Evan said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
“Well I am a damn psycho- psychic or whatever its called.”
“Psychic.” Evan laughed, it was nice to see him laugh again.
“So what you doing?”
Evan hummed, shutting down the page.
“Not a lot, just getting prepared for uni.”
Jon nodded, feeling like he was going to lose Evan again.
Evan looked towards Jon who was now harbouring a sad expression.
“For what?” Jon said, masking the fact his heart was hurting behind a chipper voice. Evan wasn’t one to buy it though.
“For moving away and everything. For leaving you.”
Jon looked towards Evan, his expression now blank.
“It’s not your fault Ev, even though I joke that it is. It’s not. You were just following your dream, you were just doing what you love-”
“And leaving what I love. I could of stayed and everything would be better here-”
“Ev, this isn’t your responsibility. I’m not some sensitive bitch who needs ca-”
“But you are Jo. You needed me and I didn’t do anything. How can I be a good friend if I’m not here for you when you’re unhappy.”
“Your problem is that you’re too kind and caring.” Jon mumbled, keeping eye contact with Evan. “You care more about others than you do yourself. I’m the bad friend if I stop you from doing what you want to do just because I can’t learn to be independent.”
“Yeah but that’s not your fault-”
Jon exhaled harshly, cutting off Evan. His eyes trailed down the floor before wandering back up to Evan’s deep eyes. A light smile tinted his face.
“I’m too tired for this shit. Budge over.”
He began to undress again into his boxers with Evan giving him a confused frown, but didn’t push the matter. They were both tired and a full blown argument over what they believed was right without a right answer would be hell.
Jon lifted up the cover and darted under, snuggling up to Evan.
“Ah get away from me, you’re freezing!”
“Says the guy who’s eating ice-cream.” Jon pointed out.
Evan huffed, letting Jon’s cold body parts sit on his for warmth. They bare interaction felt nice as skin touched skin.
They sat there for a little while, watching music videos and gaming channels.
“For what?” Jon replied sleepily, his head propped up on Evans broad shoulder.
“For making me feel better, and for the ice cream and stuff. You know I do secretly appreciate it. Even if I don’t tell you-”
“I know.” Jon responded. “You’re my best friend, I’d do anything for you.”
Evan felt a bit teary again. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. That they’d do anything for him.
Evan rested his head on the others and his arm reached around to meet Jon’s upper arm.
“You know I’d do anything for you too.”
“Like move all the way across the country for school? That kind of anything?” Jon whipped sarcastically.
“Oh, of course you’re going to hold it against me for the rest of my life. I see how it is.”
“Yeah, you’re going to have to make up for it big time mister man. I’m going to hold it against you the next time you ask me for ice-cream at 10 o’clock too.”
“Damn, that’s brutal.” Evan smirked, bringing the laptop lid down so they were engulfed in darkness.
They stayed silent, listening to one another’s breathing as they rested against each other.
Jon was the first to move, bringing their heads onto the pillows provided.
“Night Ev. Have a good sleep, and wake me up if ya feel bad.”
“Mhm, night Jo.”
Evan laid awake thinking for a little while, his body pressed up against Jon’s slimmer one. He was still a little bit cold.
Suddenly, Jon’s phone vibrated, the light blinking slightly.
Evan had been wrong to assume Jon was asleep when Jon reached out for it, reading the text.
He pressed it up to his ear in a whisper.
“Ma, it’s like midnight… okay, okay, no, pa didn’t come here. No, ma he hasn’t in a year. I know you’re sad, yes, mhmm. Can’t you two sort it out yourselves? I’m sleeping.”
Jon suddenly huffed, quietly getting out of bed. Evan heard him walk down the stairs and open a drawer.
“Ma we literally have like 20 dollars to live off. Yes, I counted all the money left in the stash too. Ma, pa is ages away. No, no you’re not going anywhere. Ma!”
Jon exhaled sharply. Throwing his phone harshly onto the counter when it buzzed as his mum ended the call.
Jon stood in silence for a second, watching himself frown in the reflection of the dark window. Why did he have to deal with his parents problems? It was theirs, not his. He hated it. It made feel bad when his mum would beg him to contact his dad, and how she missed him. At least he knew what missing someone felt like. That’s why it hurt him so much.
The thing that pissed him off the most was that they both knew that he couldn’t get in contact with dad, else she’d miss him more. Yet she kept putting him through the torture until he really didn’t care anymore.
He suddenly heard the stairs creak slightly, causing him to turn around.
Evan was stood there near the top, faintly embarrassed by the fact he had been caught.
“I was going to say something.” He encouraged. “But ya know, I didn’t know a good time to say it.”
“I didn’t realise you were up, did I wake you?”
“Nah man, I was awake anyway.” Evan reassured, now coming down the rest of the stairs.
Jon looked tired, worn and almost fragile as he stood in the dim light of the dying bulb. Evan had never really seen this side. The side of defeat, loneliness and the overall lack of confidence. It hurt to see him like this. Was this what he was like when Evan was away?
Evan walked over to him, bringing him into a massive bear hug.
Jon tucked his head into Evan’s neck. Holding tightly. He never wanted Evan to leave him ever again.
“Want me to get you a fuck ton of ice-cream?”
Jon laughed slightly, bringing his head back up to smile at Evan.
You wake up when a soft breeze tickles your nose, the white curtains fluttering as wind dances into the bright bedroom. Scrunching your nose, missing the bliss of sleep, you quickly rub the tickle away and pull the covers up to your eyes, kicking your feet around the sheets as you attempt to sink into dreamland once again.
Of course, your efforts are fruitless–your ears already picking up on the sounds of leaves rustling and birds chirping outside. So, you give up and groan cutely, hands tracing over your faces as you brush the remaining traces of sleep away.
As you wrestle the too-warm covers off of you, you feel a reminiscent ache in your bones–one that has memories of last night flashing into your mind–and you smile tiredly.
Oh, Kim Namjoon. A man without much control–especially after having been separated from you for so long.
“You awake, babe?” a groggy voice calls out at that moment, and when you notice the space beside you is vacant, you push onto your elbows and look around. And there, on the tiny balcony that’s attached to your bedroom, is Namjoon. Aging book firm in his hand and his rarely used glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. He’s only dressed in a baggy white t-shirt and a pair of old sweats, but he still pulls the look off so well–his fading pink hair mussed from sleep.
At seeing that you’ve finally risen, Namjoon gently snaps his book closed and pushes off from the railing he’d been leaning against. You can only imagine that before you’d woken up he’d been stood there silently, looking out at the trees and life around you, basking in the warm spring breeze and appreciating the freshly bloomed flowers and trees.
“Your pink hair would look nice with cherry blossoms,” you mutter quietly, sinking back into the sheets as he approaches, and when Namjoon’s happy chuckle reaches your ears you smile.
“Hmmm…should I get a pink flower crown?” he contemplates, sitting on the edge of the mattress beside you. “Fans always want us to wear them at meetings.”
“Yes, I’m sure it’d look lovely on you, princess,” you joke cheekily, and Namjoon rolls his eyes, gently smacking your shoulder.
“It’s too early for this,” he sighs, unable to hide his amused smile, and you jokingly pout.
“Too early for me?”
“No,” he responds immediately, his hand smoothing over your hair and moving to rest on your jaw, his thumb gently running over the skin of you cheek. “It’s never too earlier for you.”
Your heart flutters, cheeks feeling warm. He always manages to get to you during peaceful moments like this–where it’s just the two of you, and the rest of the world doesn’t seem to matter.
“…Even if I decide to get up at 4am?”
“Aish,” he laughs, running a hand through his hair. “If it’s 4am and I’m sleeping…then…well…”
“I would never do that to you,” you giggle, patting his thigh, and Namjoon smiles. Dipping down, he presses his lips to yours gently, the world stilling as your realize just how perfect Kim Namjoon really is.
“I love you,” you say as soon as he pulls back, fondness and sincerity flooding into your gaze. At first, Namjoon is surprised, but within a few seconds his face reflects your, a tender smile gracing his lips as his leans down and kisses you again–his lips firm against your forehead.
“I love you too.”
“…then make me breakfast?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Do you want me to burn down the kitchen?”
“Alright,” you laugh. You sit up and cling onto him, and with a huff Namjoon lifts you up and carries you towards the kitchen, your arms secured tightly around his neck.
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” you say, kissing his cheek. “We’ll do it together.”
this was inspired by @bxngtxnfluffandotherstuff. she gave me the inspiration for it while we were talking earlier, and I heard she wanted a Namjoon fluff anon, and while I’m not an anon, I figured I could do a little something. Hopefully you like it!
I LOVE THE LITTLEST WINCHESTER SERIES THING YOU HAVE. THEY ARE LITERALLY THE CUTEST THINGS OF ALL TIME. Also could you do one about her having a nightmare, and then refusing to sleep the next day or two. THANKS BABE
Word Count: 1,343
In the dead of night Dean is woken the frightened cries of his four-year-old daughter. With the door to his room closed the sound is muffled, but it’s enough to make him kick off the blankets and leap out of bed. He yanks the door open and bursts out into the hallway in search of his daughter.
“Daddy!” She cries. “Daddy, where are you?!”
“I’m right here, sweetheart.” Rounding a corner, he finds the girl standing in front of her bedroom door, her small figure a silhouette in the dark.
Too scared to move, the toddler waits for Dean to come to her, whereupon he scoops her up in a tight embrace, and she balls her fists in his shirt and cries.
Summary: Bucky x reader shenanigans on a sleepless night
A/N: So this is one I started over a month ago and sort of forgot about, but I’ve finally finished it! It’s the longest oneshot I’ve written, but I just couldn’t bring myself to cut any of the scenes. I don’t think I’ve ever put so much time and effort into a fic before (I mean, his scrabble score is legit. I actually went into my games cupboard at like 12am to check bc I get caught up on pointless shit like that lmao) so I would be so grateful for any feedback you have! x
Genre: little bits of angst, playful and romantic fluff, and even a little bit (; at times (which is not where I expected it to go, but hey, Bucky started it) Warnings: bit of adult language and neck kissing if that’s worth mentioning
A blood curdling cry filled my ears, jolting me out of my sleep and rattling through my body. It was a sound that was unsettlingly familiar. Countless times it had happened, but it still shook me to my core whenever he screamed in his slumber, unable to escape the terror that lay there waiting for him.
Trembling, jerking, moaning, wailing, his legs thrashing with the violence. “Bucky. Bucky, wake up. You’re dreaming, Buck. It’s all just a dream.” I stroked my hand across his human arm, trying my best to rouse him gently away from his demons. It took all I had not to reach out and wrap him in my arms, but in these moments his space was vital. He still hadn’t forgiven himself for the time I had, and ended up on the business end of his metal arm, pinned to the wall as if I weighed no more than air itself.
He inhaled sharply, his eyes bulging open in fear and confusion as he was wrenched from his nightmare. His eyes were red and swollen with tears. His cries were reduced to a panicked breath that heaved his chest and dried his throat. His eyes remained lost and stunned, staring into the dark, but in the blue glow of the moonlight I saw his hand reach out in search of me. I crawled over to where he sat upright on the bed and buried myself against his chest.
“Shhh… It’s ok James… It was all a dream.. I’m here… you’re ok… we’re safe..” I breathed my comforts into his neck, holding him tight in my arms as his trembles became less and less. “I’m here…”
“Y/N?” Bucky whispered from next to me in bed. “Are you awake?” “Mfhmmf…” I mumbled into my pillow. I felt the bed shift as Bucky sat up. “Whasa mtter?” I asked, my words slurred with sleep. “I can’t sleep.” He sighed heavily. I rolled over to face him and traced my fingertips over the skin on his arm, the way I knew always made him feel better. I felt the rigid muscles relax under my touch.
“They’re always just so… real.” Bucky’s voice wavered on his last word, making my heart sink like a rock in my chest. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked him softly, a little more awake now. He shook his head weakly in response. “Do you wanna do something?” I suggest, willing to try anything if it had a chance of helping him. “Help you take your mind off it?” “Like what?”
Remember that time in Yorkshin where a crowd fucking cheered for him because he was such a damn good negotiator? and ended up buying two cellphones for much cheaper than in the price they were being sold at?
also that time he used the wrestling matches as a cover-up for sneaking into important places and meeting important people?
and it worked?
Gon, Killua and Kurapika can do abnormal shit and look badass as fuck while doing it, but only Leorio can survive in the real world. He’s street smart and knows his shit. he has an “urban charisma” the other three lack.
i live next to a grocery store which is an incredible luxury and i love it but i need to buy a couple things to make what i’d like to eat for dinner tonight (tomatoes, cilantro, a lime) and it’s raining, which i realize i pretty much signed up for when we decided to move to seattle, but i’m ANNOYED and i DONT WANNA and i am USELESS
also *somebody* feline in this household peed a little on the couch and its blanket the other day (prime suspect: zevo) which is bringing back a ton of previous cat ptsd stuff for me and ian but luckily the couch cushions have removeable covers so i washed the shit out of it and sprayed the foam insert with nature’s miracle enzyme stuff, so here’s hoping it was just a fluke. and i just now wrestled the cover back on the cushion and MY GOD IT WAS DIFFICULT like i feel like they must have some kind of compression machine for originally getting the inserts in there, i probably should have waited for ian to come home and gotten him to do it with his arms that are a foot longer than mine.
WHINE WHINE WHINE IT WAS SO NICE YESTERDAY WHY CANT IT BE SUNNY TODAY TOO, I AM FUCKING OVER THIS NON-SUMMER BULLSHIT
Update: It looks like Bella and Natalie Wrestling shot for the cover of Vogue Italia with Inez and Vinoodh!! I’m both nervous and excited because honestly Bella and Natalie are both pretty… boring.. in print… sometimes… but its VI?? Ya’ know?
As you wrestle around under the covers and stretch out your aching muscles, your foggy mind begins to recount last evenings’ events. As a smile crosses your face, you turn over and are met with Matthew’s mesmerizing eyes.
Kissing him on the nose, you snuggle into his warm body. You love how tall he is, because his torso bends to your stomach, making you feel even more beautiful naked, in his arms.
“Last night was amazing,” he grumbled into your hair.
Giggling, you wrap your arms around him. “Last night was…a giant leap of faith,” you chuckle to yourself.
“Well,” he tilts your head up to his, “I am glad you chose to take it.”
Matthew hears your stomach growl and frowns. Helping you sit up in bed, he says, “I have a proposition.”
“Oh?” you say, raising your eyebrows.
“There is a diner across town that makes everything homemade. It is delicious, and I believe we are both starving,” he suggests.
“That sounds fantastic!” As reality sets in, you furrow your brow. “But…will you be ok with battling the cameras?”
As he cups his face in your hands, he lowers his voice. “I have been doing this for years, that question doesn’t reside with me…it resides with you.”
Feeling a little worried about it, you decide to give it another go. “Ok,” you say.
Pulling up to the diner, it was pretty easy to see that a couple of cars had been following you. Taking a deep breath, Matthew gets out, runs to your side to open your door, and helps you out of the car. As flashes and questions fly from all angles, he wraps his arm around your waist and guides you into the diner.
Taking a deep breath as the door closes on them, the hostess comes around and pulls the curtains on all of the windows. She turns and smiles at you both, and asks, “Where would you two like to sit today?”
“A booth would be wonderful,” you respond.
As the hostess leads the way towards the back of the diner, your stomach lets out another growl. As your face reddens with embarrassment, Matthew leans into the waitress and whispers something.
“What did you ask her?” you inquire.
“I asked her for two waters and a quick appetizer for the table. Whatever the had made up already.”
Smiling at him, you take his hand. You have no idea how you two got from his porch that night to the back of a diner after making love, but you weren’t about to start questioning it now.
After all, the true test would come in a couple of months.
As the waitress brings the waters, she sets down a bowl of chips and salsa, with some queso on the side. As your eyes widen, you dig in with Matthew, who you realize is just as ravenous as you are. Looking back at him, you giggle as you take your finger and wipe some cheese from the corner of his mouth.
“Do you two lovebirds know what you’d like?” the waitress asks.
As you jump, startled, Matthew laughs at your lack of observation and says, “I’ll have the two egg breakfast with sausage and a side order of pancakes.”
“Ooooooh, that sounds good. I’ll have the same,” you chime in.
“How would you two like your eggs?”
“Scrambled,” you say in unison.
“I’ll get that order up soon!”
As she saunters away, you feel Matthew’s foot slowly dancing around your leg. Blushing, you yank your feet away and turn your gaze to your lap. Matthew worries that he has done something wrong, until he sees a smile creep up from under your bowed head.
You hear him shuffle, and as you look up you realize he is sitting beside you. Threading his arm around your waist, he pulls you close and kisses the top of your head.
“Wanna drive some fans crazy?” he asks.
Confused as to what he means, he takes out his camera and faces it toward you both. Leaning his head into yours, he says, “Smile!”
Taking a picture, he opens up his social media on his phone and begins to type.
“What are you doing!?” you gasp. “I look horrible in that picture!”
Pausing his actions, he looks back at you and sighs. “You could never look horrible, Y/N. Not in this reality.”
Stunned, he tips his phone towards you to show what he has written, and posted onto his Twitter feed is your picture with the caption, “Two more months to go!”
As the comments start to roll in from all directions, and the congratulations emanate from his fans, you smile as you look down at your growing stomach. It was weird how much it meant that they cared. These strangers that were adorning a child they would never meet with well wishes and beautiful sentiments. It was overwhelming.
In a good way, but overwhelming.
As you see your stomach jump, you snatch Matthew’s hand and put it next to your belly button. As Angel continues to jump, neither of you realize that the waitress has already delivered your food.
“Oh my god, that food!” you reel as you flop down onto the couch. “It was amazing, Matthew. Thank you for taking me.”
“Anytime, and anywhere,” he says, smiling.
Patting the couch cushion next to you, Matthew comes and sits. As you nestle your head into the crook of his neck, you slip your hand into his.
“These past few weeks have been incredible,” you sigh.
“I know…I hate to return to work on Monday.”
“It’s been wonderful having you around here, but I know you miss the work and the projects,” you lower your voice.
“But I miss you more,” he whispers as he buries his face into your hair.
As your eyes start to well up with tears, you curse your hormones as you pull yourself away from Matthew. Turning your head and wiping your tears away, you slowly edge yourself to the end of the couch and stand.
Matthew takes your hand again, and you apologize. You didn’t mean to get so emotional. It wasn’t something to get so emotional over.
You were just going to miss him, that’s all.
“Talk to me, Y/N,” Matthew pleads.
“It’s nothing. I’m just being stupidly emotional over things getting back to normal. It’s been so wonderful having you here, taking such a huge step in our relationship and then…”
“…and then having to return to normal?”
Smiling weakly, you reply, “Exactly.”
As Matthew gets up and stands next to you, he pulls you close and leans his forehead into yours. “We aren’t backtracking. Nothing has changed with us. I will just be working again, that’s all.”
You cursed under your breath for becoming so emotional over something so trivial. What was wrong with you?
“God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air, tears cascading down your face. “This isn’t something to be upset about. It’s just work!”
As you storm into the bedroom, Matthew looks on helplessly. A worried expression crossing his face, he slowly follows you into the bedroom.
“What can I do?” he whispers? “What can I do to make this better?”
The tears still flowing, you have no idea. You are crying for no reason, other than you feel the compulsion to cry. As your frustration wells up inside of you, the tears continue to fall in an awful circle of emotional turmoil.
“I don’t know!” you throw your hands up. “I don’t know why I’m crying and it’s frustrating and my frustration is producing more tears!”
As Matthew’s soul aches to watch you cry, he throws caution to the wind. He hustles towards you, holds you tightly in his arms, and crashes a kiss into your lips.
Moaning, you throw your arms around his neck. As you part your lips, accepting his tongue, he holds you tight and picks you up.
Tossing you onto the bed, he crawls desperately over you, voraciously sucking on your neck, feeling you writhe beneath him.
Letting out groans and gasps, he rips your shirt over your head, pawing at your skin and marking his territory with every desperate kiss he lands.
Pinning your hands to the bed, he kisses the tear trails away, and as he looks into your eyes with that predatory stare, he dips his lips down and whispers into your ear: