Sebastian Stan One Shots

midnight mumbles

All I can feel is pain. Nausea courses through me, subsiding only when I close my eyes for a brief second, but then returning immediately after. I can't eat, I can barely move, and nothing is helping.

Periods are downright horrendous.

I know that Sebastian should be back to the hotel by now, and that only adds to my severe discomfort. It was a big night, the first time Tonya Harding was actually coming to an I, Tonya screening, so I knew Seb would be out late, but I didn't think it would be this late.

It's almost 2 in the morning and though I want to sleep, my body won't let me. I had been so excited to go to the second to last show of the press tour, especially knowing Tonya would actually be there. But at the last minute, I passed out for a moment from the intense pain, and Sebastian had to leave me alone for what I thought would only be about four or five hours. It has been seven.

So I wait, lying in a bed that isn't mine, trying to drown out the pointless ramblings on the TV, and wince away my pain. Eventually, after I really can't tell how long, the hotel room door finally cracks open, flooding the dark entryway with light. I turn my head to see him and pull the covers up to my chin.

"Babe, you awake?" He whispers so quietly, I can barely hear him.

"Mmph." I grumble against the pillow, slowly trying to push myself up to see him better.

He drapes his black jacket over the back of a chair and walks to me, resting a hand on my arm. "Go back to sleep," he says softly.

"I wasn't asleep," I murmur, watching him, now bathed in the blue light of the TV.

Sebastian sits next to me and starts to untie his tie. "How are you feeling?"

Shrugging, I take his hand.  "I've been better." The pain and nausea still riot against me, but my mind is soothed just by him being here. "But I'm a little bit okayer now."

 He tosses his tie across the room, chuckling, and it lands on the desk next to the chair. Without a word he pulls himself onto the bed and spoons me, kissing my cheek. The scruff of his beard tickles my neck and I pull away slightly, but give in after a second.

"I missed you..." he whispers, mouth right next to my ear, and starts droning on and on, "I missed you, I missed you..."

I turn and see his eyes are closed, a smile on his lips. "Have you been drinking?" I ask. I didn't smell anything on him but that doesn't mean much.

"No," he replies immediately, "I just...really missed you." He kisses my neck harder and I turn my body to face him, putting a hand on his chest.

"Go to bed." I chide playfully. "It's late."

He stares at me wistfully and longingly, but then collapses back on the bed. "I'll just stay right here."

I smile and it's not that long before he falls asleep, yet I don't blame him. I think that under different circumstances he would've stayed up to make sure I could sleep, but the press tour has taken a toll on him. He'd been getting less than 4 hours of sleep for the last few weeks, and I only hoped this would give him some much-needed rest.