#because this version of him can lift a fucking car and chew through bones

[schreckensbleiches-nervenbuendel]

Meine Selbstüberschätzung bringt mich irgendwann ins Grab.

Und ja, ich bin mir zu 100% sicher, dass ich einen Kampf gegen Dylan überleben und 1/3 Runden gewinnen würde ⚰️

#die drei fragezeichen #dylan parks #i'm delusional #I won't survive Demon Au!Dylan #because this version of him can lift a fucking car and chew through bones

[vernonfielding]

No pain no gain

Missing scene fic from Jimmy Jabs 2! This is shameless hurt/comfort (and some mild Jake/Amy Being Serious). Thank you to the lovely and super smart @fezzle and @feeisamarshmallow for the fantastic beta!! Title is more Bash Brothers (from Let’s Bash). 

Read on AO3.

First, Amy runs up to Jake and throws her arms around his neck and kisses him soundly, right in front of the entire squad and the staff and the civilians mingling all around the bullpen. She kisses him until he’s breathless and she can feel the too-fast flutter of his pulse in his neck (which could be from the kiss or the adrenaline, impossible to know).

Second, Amy pulls back and grabs his hand and drags him up, arm circling his waist when he stumbles a little. She takes him straight down the garage, to their sensible and very boring Champagne-colored sedan, and drives him to the closest emergency room.

It’s busy for a weekday afternoon. Every seat is taken, mostly by people coughing behind surgical masks or clutching barf bags and sweating in a way that makes Amy’s own stomach turn a little. A woman in a chair just behind them is pressing a bloody towel into the palm of one hand. A little boy two chairs over has an icepack pressed to his nose and blood all over his white T-shirt.

The nurse at the registration desk glances up as Amy approaches with Jake. The nurse’s eyes flit down to the NYPD logo on their matching shirts and she says, “Injured in the line of duty?”

She’s holding a pen in one hand, poised over a clipboard, and Amy knows her answer now will determine the rest of their day: If Jake was hurt on duty they get a free pass back to the ER. If she says Jake was competing in the Nine-Nine’s version of American Gladiators-

“Yes,” Amy says. “My husband was on duty. He fell.” It’s not really a lie.

The nurse hits a buzzer, and five minutes later Jake’s in a bed, plastic wristband on one arm and blood pressure cuff on the other. The adrenaline’s fully kicked in and he’s gone all pale and sweaty, his blood pressure is alarmingly high, and he can’t stop fidgeting when the nurse tries to put an oximeter clip on one finger. Amy feels a twist of guilt in her gut and chews on a thumbnail.

+++

Amy loves Jake. Full stop. No reservations, no conditions, no exceptions. She loves every part of him -- his kind and generous heart, his ridiculous curls and goofball grin, his exceptional detective brain and his remarkably robust digestive system (given his eating habits). She loves his recent addiction to corn nuts, and she loves that his new favorite beverage is boba tea from the shop around the corner from their apartment. She loves that he didn’t learn the months of the year until he was 12 and that he activates his animatronic fish at least once a week, just to make sure it’s still “alive.”

She loves that he’s going to be the father of her child. She knows he’ll be incredible -- she feels it in her heart and her bones and her blood and and her brain and all the spaces in between. 

(And she still really, really loves his butt.)

But damnit if the man isn’t absolutely infuriating sometimes.

“So, what happened here?” says the doctor, pushing aside the curtain at the foot of Jake’s bed. The doctor is very tall and her hair is pulled into a tight braid that falls halfway down her back. Amy’s glad she prepared for this moment.

“My husband fell out of a ceiling,” she says, throwing just the right amount of sheepishness into her tone. “Also, I used an EpiPen on him.”

The thing is, this is almost too easy, striking the right balance between telling the truth and fudging the embarrassing details in these situations. Amy smiles pleasantly at the doctor when she raises a questioning eyebrow.

“What is he allergic to?” the doctor says, looking between Amy and Jake.

“Bees,” Amy says, “but he wasn’t stung. I had to give him the adrenaline so he could break down a door.”

“I see,” the doctor says, though clearly she doesn’t. But she refrains from asking follow-up questions, which is all that matters. “You know that’s not really how EpiPens work.”

Amy does not tell the doctor that, in fact, the EpiPen worked exactly as they’d hoped. Instead she shrugs and says, “We didn’t have a lot of other options.”

“Well.” The doctor frowns and looks Jake up and down, and makes a note on the tablet she’s carried in with her. “Let’s take a look.”

The nurse who got him settled took off Jake’s sweatshirt, but he’s otherwise still in his tactical uniform, boots and all. Amy notices there’s a bruise blossoming along his jawline and another high up on his forehead. It’s amazing that he didn’t get any cuts or badly broken bones when he fell, but she suspects his ribs are bruised, at least. She hopes it’s nothing more serious, and she recalls one morning years ago, when he came to work the day after hurting himself so badly after chasing a perp through traffic and falling through the open sunroof of a car. He’d insisted to everyone that he was fine, when he clearly wasn’t; at the time, Amy had brushed it off as typical Jake: brash, impulsive, foolish and still weirdly endearing.

She would have said earlier today that Jake wasn’t like that anymore -- that he wouldn’t participate in the Jimmy Jabs, of all things, if he was truly injured. But after everything that he’s said and done today, she’s not sure that’s the case. And anyway, she was pushing him, telling him they couldn’t lose their ridiculous (boring) car to a ridiculous bet in a ridiculous game.

Jake hisses when the doctor bends over and prods gently at his left side. She lifts his T-shirt and Amy winces at the mottled blue and purple bruising. His shoulder is similarly bruised, and swollen, and Jake can’t reach his arm up over his head when the doctor asks. 

“I’d like to get some X-rays,” the doctor says. “How’s your head?”

“Hurts,” Jake says. He’s gritting his teeth and has wrapped an arm around his middle.

“Did you hit it in the fall?” the doctor says, taking a penlight out of her coat pocket.

“I don’t think so,” Jake says. The doctor shines the light in his eyes and Jake frowns but endures it. She asks his name, if he knows where he is and what year it is -- all the usual stuff.

“The headache is probably from the EpiPen,” the doctor says. “But we’ll keep an eye on it.”

+++

The doctor leaves and a nurse returns with a gown and offers to help Jake change. Amy says she’s got it.

“You’re a mess,” she says, quietly, as she takes off his shoes.

She helps him strip off his pants and they both pause to look over the bruised bumps on his legs. A particularly angry-looking lump the size of a baseball is forming on his right thigh, and when Amy brushes the spot with a finger the skin feels hot. Her eyes fill with tears and she blinks and looks away, tugging the pants off his feet when they get stuck.

“I’m sorry,” Jake says, so soft she hardly catches it.

Amy sighs and helps him sit up. She peels off the blood pressure cuff, and slides his T-shirt as carefully as she can over his stiff arms, up and over his head. She unfolds the gown the nurse left them and helps him pull it on, then takes a seat on the bed, at his hip.

“I’m not mad at you for getting hurt,” she says.

“I know I was being reckless-”

“Jake, last month you climbed onto an overturned wastebasket on top of a skateboard so you could hang the new curtains in our bedroom,” Amy says. “And you know what my first thought was, when I saw you up there like two seconds from falling through the window?”

“That you married a moron?” Jake says glumly.

“No -- I thought you were right, that the teal stripes match our bedspread really well,” Amy says. “Don’t get me wrong, I also wondered why you hadn’t just climbed on a chair like a normal person. But I wasn’t mad about it, and I’m not mad about this now.”

Jake looks so relieved, his face going soft and smiley, that she almost feels bad when she takes his hand in hers and adds, “But I’m still pretty pissed that you bet the car. Our car.”

+++

Amy hated Jake for the first two weeks after she started at the Nine-Nine. After everything she’d been through at the Six-Four, Jake came across as just another fucking bro-cop, with his dumb, disarming smile and flirting with witnesses and constant boasting about his detective skillz-with-a-Z. He never crossed any lines with her, but she didn’t peg him as an ally, either.

Then he’d said something, something that should have been totally ordinary but wasn’t.

A man in a suit had walked up to Jake’s desk in the middle of a quiet afternoon, just Jake and Amy and Rosa in the bullpen, and he’d said, “What’s up with all the chicks working here, dude?”

Jake, who’d been leaning far back in his chair, feet up on his desk, eating a microwave burrito for lunch, had said without pause, “Dude, they’re women, and they’re detectives. Now go away.”

They’d never found out if the man was a witness or a lawyer or there to report a crime -- he’d just stared at Jake for a moment, cheeks turned bright red, and walked right out. After that, everything sort of tilted a few degrees for Amy. Jake was still immature and boorish and flaky, but he also became someone she thought she could trust. 

In the emergency room, Jake’s palm in her hand is clammy, and when she presses her thumb into his wrist she can feel his pulse still racing from the adrenaline shot, but maybe also because she’s made him anxious.

“I know, the bet was dumb,” Jake says, but Amy can tell by the edge of exasperation in his tone that he’s thinking they’ve been through this already and he thought they were good.

“Yeah, but you know what really pissed me off?” Amy says. “Hitchcock.”

“Hitchcock? You’re mad about Hitchcock?�� Jake says. “But he’s always an ass.”

Amy sighs and pulls Jake’s hand into her lap. “I know, but this time you were kind of an ass too, babe. He was so dismissive toward me, and whatever, it’s Hitchcock. But you went right along with it, and that hurt. It really sucked.”

She can feel Jake’s gaze on her face, and Amy looks up to find him wide-eyed and appalled. She debated all day whether she should say something about how that had felt, because honestly, Jake is good. She doesn’t believe he needs to be reminded that women -- and especially his own wife -- should be treated with respect. But at the same time, she thinks he’d be pissed if he knew she was annoyed and not telling him. 

It’s obvious that this particular hit has landed. He looks away from Amy and bites his lower lip, and she knows he’s feeling devastated. Literally nothing wounds Jake more than knowing he’s hurt or let down someone he cares about.

“Jake-”

“I am so sorry, Ames,” he says, eyes locked on the hand that Amy isn’t holding. “God, I’m such a jerk.”

“You’re not,” Amy says, and when Jake shakes his head, she adds, “I mean, okay, you were jerk-ish. But look, you were freaking out a little and not thinking clearly and it probably didn’t even occur to you how rude that whole conversation was.”

“That just makes it worse!” Jake says.

Amy frowns to herself, because- yeah, it kind of does. “Fine. You were a jerk.”

“And then you had to spend the whole day helping me win,” Jake says, “when you totally could’ve won the whole thing.”

“Well, obviously,” Amy says. “It should be noted that I had fun today, babe. I don’t get to goof around like that as much as I used to, and you know how much I love a competition.

“It’s just- I would have preferred to skip the Jimmy Jabs entirely and go to my seminar.”

Jake winces. “Yeah, I’m the worst.”

Amy laughs at that, because it’s so far from the truth. “Jake, I love you, so much. But you’re not perfect. You’re allowed to make mistakes, even kind of shitty ones.”

“Ames-”

“Also,” she says, talking over him, “I stabbed you with an EpiPen so you could win the world’s dumbest obstacle race. I think that makes us even.”

Which is exactly when their nurse reappears.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that,” she says, and helps Jake into a wheelchair to take him for X-rays.

+++

Nothing is broken, and Jake’s head is fine.

The doctor makes them wait around awhile anyway, and after five hours in the ER the adrenaline is finally wearing off and the pain pills are kicking in and Jake is dozing. Amy sits in a chair one of the orderlies brought in, filling out crosswords, and secretly she’s loving all of the uninterrupted downtime.

It’s long past dark by the time they’re free. Jake shuffles to the car and it’s obvious he’s still in a lot of pain despite the Norco. He grunts as he falls into the passenger seat and Amy helps him with the seatbelt when he struggles to reach across his own chest.

Amy sends him straight to bed, and while the soup is heating up she texts Terry that Jake won’t be in the next day. She thinks he’ll be okay at home alone, but wonders if she should use a sick day too. Except they really should be saving those up now.

Jake’s passed out again when she carries dinner to the bedroom. She sets the bowl of soup and the glass of orange soda on his bedside table and nudges him awake. He’s still pale and his eyes are red with exhaustion, blinking up at her slowly, and she swears more bruises have bloomed on his face in the 15 minutes since she saw him.

“I’m a mess,” Jake says, and she thinks he’s deliberately echoing her words from earlier. He sounds tired and pathetic.

She sits beside him on the bed and runs a hand through his hair, nails scratching a little against his scalp. Jake’s eyes flutter closed, and she leans forward and kisses each eyebrow, and the outer corners of his eyes, and the tip of his nose. She kisses him on the mouth. His lips are chapped and the stubble on his cheeks tickles her own smooth skin.

Amy pulls back and Jake opens his eyes, looking up at her with something like wonder.

“You are,” she says. “But you’re my mess. And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

#b99 fic #missing scene #jimmy jabs 2 #jake peralta #amy santiago #jake/amy #hurt/comfort

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The Summer Fling (Chapter 4) - Dylan O’Brien

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “Silly Lilly’s”

Relationship: Dylan O’Brien x Reader/OFC

Summary: Dylan shows up to go paddleboarding and then opens up more and becomes more comfortable with you.

Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five

It was 9:50, and Dylan had gotten to Silly Lilly’s, a boat, fishing gear and water equipment rental shop in Center Moriches, earlier than you. Jay, one of the owners of the shop, had been outside smoking his morning cigarette when Dylan pulled up in Julia’s car. He recognized Dylan from Deepwater Horizon and the new red band trailer of American Assassin that he had been shown by his partner earlier that week. He had struck up a conversation with Dylan and offered him a smoke, which Dylan happily accepted as he was nervous about whether or not this was a date and he needed to calm down.

He kept glancing behind him, and then down at his watch to check the time, and see if you were coming. He finally spotted you, wind blowing through your hair as you rode down the end of the gravel road on your bike. He quickly threw his cigarette butt on the ground, and covered it with the small rocks under his feet. He sniffed his shirt and rolled his eyes. He wished that someone had come up with a cigarette that didn’t let the stench stick to your clothes so much.

Jay glanced behind his shoulder at what Dylan had become distracted by and smiled. “You didn’t say it was Y/n Y/L/N you were meeting. Her Dad is a good buddy of mine.”

“Shit.. uh, hey, man.. Do you mind not mentioning that I was smoking with you? I might really like her and she does not like the smoking.” Dylan shifted uncomfortably at having to talk so personally with a stranger.

Jay laughed and stuck his hand out to shake Dylan’s. “You got it, bro.”

“Hey, Jay, hey Dylan.. You actually showed up.” You teased with a big smile, as you dismounted your bike and pulled at the kickstand with your foot.

“Hey sweety, how was ‘Naaaam?” Jay asked with a smile, hugging you as you approached.

“Too short. I didn’t get to go to that temple you were telling me about. Next time. I have every intention of going back. Oh and I brought you and Tom something from my Dad….” You swung your gray backpack around to your front, unzipped it, and pulled out a jar of jam. Dylan smirked and snickered quietly to himself, as that was not in the realm of what he was expecting you to hand to Jay.

“Oh god, which is this? Come on inside so I can give you the old jar to give back to John.” Jay said, as he led you and Dylan inside the small yellow, white and blue bungalow.

“It’s peach and triple ginger. It’s my current favorite of his. It’s really effing good.” You explained and Dylan found himself smiling again at the way that your version of not cursing in front of adults was saying the PG-13 version of the cuss. You glanced up at him and smiled, and he smiled bashfully back, before breaking the prolonged eye contact and glancing down at his shoes.

“Tom’s gonna be so excited. Thank your Dad for me. So, anyway, what are you guys doing today?” Jay asked, leaning over the other side of the counter.

“I’m going to paddleboard, I think, but Dylan, do you want to do that or kayak?” You asked.

“Have you ever gone paddleboarding before?” Jay asked Dylan, who shook his head. “Oh, then you’ve gotta do that. It’s gonna be a piece of cake for someone as fit as you.”

“I guess we’re both paddleboarding then.” Dylan’s mouth tugged up in the right corner at you.

“Alright, that’s $34 for you, Dylan.” Jay said with a smirk.

“For both of us?”

“No, she get’s to rent for free, she brings me jam. You’re a movie star though, you can pay.” Jay chuckled, and allowed his mischievous smile to take over his face.

“Jay!”

“Alright, alright, you can both be free rides today if you let me take a snap with you outside in front of the sign and sign the printed version so I can hang it behind the register when you come back inside. Good for business.”

“Jay…” You said with a more serious tone, embarrassed by your Dad’s friend for putting Dylan on the spot.

Dylan laughed, with a slight discomfort that only you picked up on, and rubbed the side of your arm sweetly, letting you know it was not a big deal. It was part of the job. “It’s okay. I can totally do that, man.”

Dylan got the hang of the paddleboard quickly, but feigned a fall off, into the water, early on, because in his head, it was better to smell like saltwater than cigarette smoke when he was hanging out with you. You paddled over quickly when you saw him go down and laughed as he climbed back onto the board, and got back on his feet. You handed him the oar that you had fished out of the water next to his board.

"Thanks." Dylan smiled, trying to look only at your face and not stare at your body in your skimpy swimsuit.

"I thought you'd be better at this, since you're so..." You gestured up and down at his ripped, post-American Assassin body. Dylan smirked and raised an eyebrow at you struggling to find the right words. "Um.. athletic.."

"Haven't quite gotten the hang of it yet, I guess." Dylan couldn't wipe the smirk off of his face.

"Guess it sucks to suck." You grinned, slowly paddling away.

Dylan quickly caught up next to you and you stopped to look at him. "Oh, sucks to suck, huh?" Dylan picked up his paddle and pushed your board slightly away.

You tilted your head to the side, and playfully narrowed your eyes at him. "You wouldn't."

"Sucks to suck." Dylan repeated before pushing you off off the board with his oar. You pulled on his paddle as you fell, successfully pulling him into the water as well. Dylan swam under your board and popped his head up next to yours. He wiped his medium length hair off his forehead, and began to tread water next to you. "You okay?" He asked, smiling, and sinking just his closed mouth and chin back under the still saltwater of the inlet.

"Mhmm." You smirked and then splashed the top half of Dylan's face with water.

"Oh... you're dead."

"Yea, can we sit outside? Since someone dunked me into the water and I didn't bring a towel...." You grinned at Dylan and he bashfully smiled at you, glancing up and down at your body. You still only had a bikini top on, and you had put your running shorts and shoes back on, but you were pretty wet still.

"Absolutely. Follow me." The waiter said to you, and brought you to a table at the patio. "I'll be right back out with menus and water."

Dylan smiled at the waiter and turned back to you, placing your backpack on one of the empty chairs and pulling out the chair opposite of his. "Hey, uh, I'm sorry I pushed you in."

"It's fine. I was just giving you shit." You smiled.

"No, here.." Dylan pulled his t-shirt off and handed it to you. You bit your lower lip softly, as you watched his shirt come off. Up close, you could really see the veins bulging from his arms, the cuts going from his hip bones towards the happy trail under his belly button, and disappearing beneath his black swim trunks. There were subtle outlines of abs peeking out from under his tanning skin. She stared at the tuft of hair in between his pectoral muscles, and then you stared at his pectoral muscles.

"What?" You said, blinking finally and staring up at Dylan, who was wearing a grin from ear to ear.

"Are you going to sit?"

You rolled your lips together and in towards your mouth and curled the corners up. "Mhmm." You pulled your shorts off and hung them on the back of the empty chair. Dylan stared at your legs and ass and stomach and chest as you lifted your arms up and slipped his shirt on. "Thanks."

"Absolutely." Dylan smiled and took a sip of the water that the waiter had brought out. "So what's good here?"

"Do you like lobster?" Dylan nodded. "Then you have to get the lobster roll. It's killer."

"You two ready to order some drinks?" The waiter came over with his pad and pencil.

"I think we're just ready to order actually, right?" You told him and glanced at Dylan, slipping your sunglasses on as you squinted up at the waiter.

"Yea, two lobster rolls, a Stella and..?"

You smiled. You kind of liked that he ordered for you. That was something that your domineering personality tended to do with other people often, but you were fine taking the backseat to Dylan. "A Corona with lime, please... and thank you." You flashed a smile at the waiter, and Dylan smirked at how polite you were.

"You got it." The waiter walked back inside.

"So, did you like paddleboarding?"

Dylan nodded and smiled. "A lot. Thank you for inviting me."

"Of course. I'm glad you came."

"How is it?" You asked, taking a sip of your cold beer and watching Dylan tilt his head horizontally to take a large bite of his lobster roll.

He began to chew and then his eyebrows furrowed together and he began nodding. He brought his napkin up to his mouth and wiped the remnants off his chin and smiled. "That is so fucking good. You were totally right. I can't even remember the last time I had lobster either." He went in for another bite and you smirked.

"See! The perks of being on vacation."

Dylan nodded, chewing fast so he could talk, and took a swig of his Stella Artois to wash the food down easier. "Yea, it's nice to be on a vacation that's actually a vacation."

"What do you mean?" You asked before taking a bite of your own lunch.

Dylan took another sip of his beer and leaned back in his chair, the hot metal warm against his bare back. He breathed deeply and exhaled before talking again. "Uh... You had already graduated, so I'm sure Jules didn't tell you about it, but last March I was filming a movie and was doing a stunt that involved some moving cars and basically the stunt went really bad and I ended up in the hospital for, like, six days."

"I actually read about that." You didn't feel like lying to him and acting like you knew nothing about him; he was opening up to you and telling you personal things about himself and you wanted to be open in return. "I texted Julia while you were there to see how you were and how she was.." Dylan smiled with his eyes at you, as he took a sip of his beer. You found yourself reaching over to his face and brushing the tip of your pointer finger against the top of his sweet and adorable upturned nose. "Is that how you got this little guy?"

Dylan nodded and rubbed his fingers against his stubbly jaw. Recalling the experience gave him a lot of anxiety. "Yea, I'm lucky that's all I was left with from it, but I had really good doctors, so.." Dylan shrugged and leaned his elbows against the table, staring straight up at you. "Basically, I spent all of last summer, up until the filming started in September for American Assassin, just sitting on my couch and not really leaving my house and not working and being pretty depressed and.." He trailed off and shook his head, staring at his empty plate in front of him. He looked back up at you, a small smile, meant to comfort you more than to convey happiness, settled on his lips. "So, automatically, this summer vacation is a thousand times better."

"Glad to hear that." You smiled bashfully, looking down at your fingers around the neck of your beer bottle, dripping with condensation through the slots in the table and down by the gravel under your bare feet. "Are you excited to get back to work? Have anything lined up now that Teen Wolf is over?"

Dylan sighed again. "Asking all the tough questions today." He smiled more genuinely at you, a reminder that he was just joking. "I have Comic Con next month for Teen Wo-" Dylan stopped mid-word and his eyes got big. "That's supposed to be a huge secret, please don't tell anyone about that."

You smiled, laughed and nodded. "Does Twitter count as telling someone?" You teased, playfully cocking your head to the side. Dylan's eyes got wide and he took a large swig of his almost empty beer. You bit your lower lip and smirked. "I won't tell a soul. I promise."

"Thanks. Posey bet that I couldn't keep that a secret for long." Dylan grinned and shook his head, killing the last of his beer.

"You gonna miss him?" You asked, leaning your left elbow against the table, and resting your cheek against your balled up fist as you stared at the handsome man across the table.

Dylan nodded. "Honestly? I've been having horrible anxiety about the show being done. I spent so long with those people, and they are like my family and I just.. a lot is changing right now, I guess. It's just.."

"It sounds scary." You interrupted him as he struggled for the word that rolled off your tongue.

"It is. It was a constant, and now it's gone... and then, you know, Maze Runner is ending as well, and that’s a whole other group of people I’ve been with for a while, and I'm just trying to figure out what my next move is."

"Well, I mean, American Assassin will probably turn into a series, right? Like, Jason Bourne or James Bond or something." You questioned, hoping to make him feel better.

Dylan nodded his head to the side. "I hope. That's the plan, but I wouldn't make one of those every year, you know? So, I have to find stuff to do in between."

"Have anything lined up yet?" You asked, while signaling to the waiter for the check from across the patio.

Dylan shook his head and took his wallet out. "Something, maybe. I've been talking to my agent about it, but we'll see."

"What is it?"

Dylan grinned and shook his head. "I can't tell you."

"Where's the fun in that?" You asked, a smirk spreading across your face, as you stared at the way his lips shined in the sun after he licked them lightly.

"Seeing you squirm like that is a little fun for me." Dylan admitted, flirting.

"You're such a tease." You whispered, as the waiter brought the check over to hand to you, since you were the one that asked for it.

Dylan took it out of the waiter's hand before you could touch the black book the receipt sat inside of. He stuck his credit card inside and handed it back to the waiter. "It's on me."

This action left you more than a little confused. You decided to protest a little. "Dylan, I can't let you... at least let me pay for my half." You reached over to your backpack to grab your wallet.

Dylan placed his hand over yours, his hot and sweaty skin sticking to the top of your wrist, and you felt the breath hitch in the back of your throat. "It's on me." He repeated with a smile.

You glanced down, his hand still resting on the back of yours, and you felt the blood rush to your face. "Thanks. That's sweet of you."

"Thanks for dining with us, I hope you both come again." The waiter interrupted your moment, and suddenly your hand felt cold, as the gentle breeze blew over the cool sweat that came with Dylan's skin touching yours in the heat of late June.

The loss of contact left you defeated as he closed the receipt book and walked with you over to Julia's car. You got inside, your bike on the rack attached to the trunk, and he began the five minute ride back to your house. Your head was becoming dizzy with all the thoughts and questions that were running through it, until Dylan interrupted your internal meltdown with his voice. "Are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

"Um, not really."

"I'm sure that you'll hear from Julia tonight, I'm pretty sure she hasn't invited anyone yet, but she's throwing a party at the house and I wanted to know if you wanted to come." Dylan asked, tapping his hand against the bottom of the steering wheel nervously.

You opened your mouth to answer and then closed it, struggling with what to say first. Dylan pulled onto your street and you finally spoke, mere moments feeling like an eternity. "Um, does Julia know that you and I have hung out a couple times?" You asked, apprehensively, not wanting to seem presumptuous.

"I haven't told her.. I didn't know if I should..."

"So, it would be maybe weird if I showed up tomorrow because you invited me.."

"I know you're on the guest list, she told me.. I just wanted to be the one to invite you... because I don't think I'd have that much fun if you weren't there to hang out with." Dylan admitted, staring straight at your closed garage door.

"Okay, then I'll be there." You were happy at what he admitted, but at that point, you were even more confused about what was happening between the two of you. You liked him. In fact, you weren't sure what there was not to like about him. But you were completely in your own head about what he was thinking.

"Good... Um, I wanna keep hanging out but I have to go to the grocery store and then pick Julia up from the train station." Dylan admitted, his eyes a little sadder suddenly as they made contact with yours.

You nodded reassuringly, to whom, you weren't sure. "It's okay. I'll just see you later."

Dylan nodded with a slight smile, got out of the car, and pulled your bike off the rack. You pulled the garage door open for him and he wheeled your bicycle to the back where he saw you leave it the day before. He paused by the landing of the stairs that led to your front door and looked at you, scratching the back of his neck. You watched his muscles ripple as he did so and realized something.

"Oh my god, your shirt." You laughed and began pulling it off.

"No, no, it's okay. Keep it. I have an extra in the backseat from the beach the other day. You can give it to me tomorrow when you come to the party." Dylan grinned.

"Well, now I have to come..." You teased.

"I hope. I'll see you tomorrow." Dylan stepped forward, and you stared, and then suddenly felt his arms wrap around you in a quick, but tight hug. You wrapped your arms around him, and all you felt was warm skin and tight muscles. You barely breathed as he embraced you. He finally broke the hug and stepped back, slowly walking towards his car. "Tomorrow..." He reminded you.

"Oh my god, YES. I will be there. I'll see you tomorrow." You grinned, a bright red hue staining your cheeks. You waved and walked up the stairs as he drove away.

Julia O'Brien: party tomorrow at my place. 9ish. ~byor~

You: bring your own rosé?

Julia O'Brien: you just get me, Y/n

Sarah Wells: FUCK YES, LADIES. I WILL SEE YOU BOTH TOMORROW.

You laughed at your best friend and closed your phone. You held it for a few extra moments wondering if you should text Dylan to tell him that you were definitely going now, but you didn't. Your screen lit up and you rolled your eyes, assuming it was still Sarah or Julia in the group chat. It wasn't.

Dylan O'Brien: So I heard you got the invite...

You: Mhmm. Looks like I'm actually going to a party tomorrow!

Dylan O'Brien: I can't wait. Goodnight, Y/n. Thanks for today. :)

Your heart swelled up and you squeled, causing Trixie to look up from her slumber in annoyance. You giggled at your dog and thought of what to say. You decided you wanted to try something new.

You: Anytime. Goodnight, Dyl. :)

shouts out to Silly Lilly’s. my number one dudes forever. 

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