dylan o'brien Fan Page @dylanobrienfanpage25 - Tumblr Blog

HE HAS A SHIRT WITH TONY ON IT!!! 🥰

This about fucking KILLED ME.

Like... whoever gave this to him (and I really do feel like it was a gift, perhaps a birthday one) deserves only cold pillows and green traffic lights for the rest of their life. It's so fucking adorable. He's so fucking adorable. TONY is so fucking ADORABLEEE!

I love everything about him out there singing his ass off at a karaoke bar wearing his dog over his heart. It's perfection.

daisy-is-a-writer

Dylan O’Brien Fanfiction

(Part of my Masterlist)

A/n: Ah Dylan. I’m not sure if I’ll be writing anymore Dylan fanfiction if I’m honest! BUT- I am open to it if the character is really good :) In the meantime, enjoy!

Keep reading

djobriens

55 with royal Thomas seems like a must

send me a character and a prompt for a scene blurb ~ (6/10)

ARRANGED : for both muses to date or marry out of convenience.

this isnt the best but take it please x

You revelled in the serenity of the Royal gardens; an abundance of botanical species of every possible shade was surrounding you with joy, the gentle springtime air making your skin settle with comfortable warmth. It was a welcomed change to feel such peace after times of uncertainty - a game of ambiguousness when it came to matters of the heart, and the ownership of one’s hand. To love but not have was the source of your endless nights of aching, alas it all changed when realisation struck, and you were finally betrothed to the boy that once promised to hold your heart forever. Harmonies of singing birds echoed through the grand space, and it was easy to become mesmerised by how entrancing their song played - so much that you nearly missed the quiet coo of your name and the additional body standing close behind your frame.

Tender yet calloused hands were careful as they grasped your biceps, fingers squeezing with such delicacy above your elbows as a chin perched upon your right shoulder. Your eyes remained forward to overlook the beauty in front of you, but a smile still curled at your lips when loving lips pressed just under your ear. You hoped your future would be like this - so gentle, so devoted, affectionate, constituted - and it would be, for as long as Thomas remained by your side.

“Your highness.” You managed to say, your voice wavering as his lips trailed down the shape of your jaw. He grinned against you as a smile stretched over your skin, and you couldn’t stop the breathless sigh of contentedness that escaped you.

Thomas chuckled lightly, “M’lady. I still find myself even now, puzzled, over the luck that’d come my way and how I can professedly call you mine from this day onward.”

Thomas’ ardor covered your back, a feeling of homeliness overcoming you as you slowly sunk into his hold and savoured the sensation of his body sheltering your own. He made you calm and comfortable, finally complacent in a world where you once thought would never turn in your favour. But now you at long last have the boy that gave you butterflies since your eyes first met, the boy that kept your secrets safe and offered a shoulder to cry on. He always was yours, only now the blessing has officially been granted, and you don’t need to shy away anymore from wanting to hold him forever within your arms.

“We’ve yet to be wed, Tommy.” You replied to him, a hand reaching behind you to thread fingers through his brunette locks.

A gentle giggle caught your attention, drawing your sight across the garden to your handmaiden as she stared at you both joy, knowing just how fulfilled this betrothal had left you feeling. Your cheeks became dusted with pinkness, sudden bashfulness before a playful glare was directed toward her and she turned around to reinforce your privacy.

Thomas hummed against your neck, uncaring of who could see before he carefully spun you until your chests were flushed and your beating hearts thumped in coordinated rhythms. Calloused fingers were delicate as they pushed stray hairs behind your ears, and you could’ve sworn that the light was hitting him just perfectly - an angelic glow creating a euphoric image before you - prompting your eyes to shape like hearts and shine with every ounce of love you could muster.

He chuckled, once more, “It is true, our espousal is still unaccustomed, but it only makes it easier when I know that the love I feel is already very much present. I will have no predicaments, no hesitations when it comes to being with you, my sweet. It’s all I have wanted for as long as time can count, and now it’s been granted...” His voice trailed, face etching with such blissful disbelief as his lips tugged even further upward until his smile was near as bright as his golden hues, “Only good can come from this. From you. And I know that this sovereign will flourish under the reign of myself as King if it meant that I had you as my Queen.”

Your chest fluttered under his words, his promise to keep you with him. It seemed as good as a dream, too good to be of truth; but the way his fingertips left fiery trails over your skin, as well as chilled goosebumps in their wake, it couldn’t make you feel anymore alive if it tried.

“I’m sure that my words are ones of nothing new to your ears, but I do care for you incredibly much, Thomas. I love you with all that my heart can give, and I forever will.” You slid your hand over his chest, allowing yourself to feel the oddly steady yet hard thumping song of his heart. He copied your movements before fingers enclosed between your own, the pressure provoking your hand to now pulse with how melodic and passionate he was truly feeling.

Thomas’ eyes managed a softened glaze, his happiness tenfold, “And I you, my love. Forever.”

Your hand grasped the material of his shirt, fingers scrunching at the cotton as your weight shifted to the toes of your shoes. You stood taller, only slightly, but enough to bump the tip of your nose carefully against his and feel the slight warmth of his breath as he sighed in contentedness. Lashes tickled over your skin as they fluttered, slow to close as you wanted to savour the beauty that he wore so well. Not that you could ever forget.

Pillowed lips brushed; they grazed and they teased like footwork to a dance. They didn’t quite join but it was the chase that built the funny sensation in your stomach and you didn’t dare want it to end. It wasn’t until the boy took the step and pressed his lips to tenderly against yours that you felt your shoulders sink and knees grow weak.

Thomas allowed his spare arm to circle behind your back and pull you against him, his kiss sliding between your own as he cherished such moments of solitude and serenity. It was desperate, holding so much awaited emotion that it needed to spill out before the future king simply exploded. It was deepened by the prodding of your tongue and the welcomed gasp that lit Thomas’ veins on fire.

If time could stand still, if this picture was frozen in place, then Thomas could swear that he wouldn’t want anything else from this world. You were more than perfect enough.

freedomfireflies-deactivated202

Weedboiii Void | 7. Say What You Mean

Summary: Royal is a patient at Eichen House. Colin happens to be, too. But this mysterious boy is more than just fake blonde hair and weed.

He's also the voice in his head.

Word Count: 2.6k

Lawson makes the first play. Determined and practiced. Grinning at the other two around the table rather proudly as Colin is forced to make his move.

Colin glances at the table suspiciously for a moment before his eyes flick to Royal.

She says nothing. Only stares. Lets him attempt to decipher her true feelings.

She imagines he's quite surprised to see her. Acting rather friendly, given the circumstances. She wonders if Void has talked to him since. Or if he only talks to her now.

She wonders if Colin's intentions align with Void's. If they're on the same team, working in tandem to lure her into their game of trickery.

Something tells her, however, that they're not.

She's not sure if this should worry her or relieve her.

"What happened with Ms. Morrell?" Lawson asks as Colin contemplates his next move.

Colin shrugs, narrowed eyes finding the board. "I don't know. She talked. I ignored her."

Royal feels her expression fall with disappointment as she studies him.

"Did she mention The Cage?" Lawson asks next as he moves his Queen forward.

"Yeah." Another shrug. "Said they can't help me if I don't help myself."

His tone is mocking, and she picks up on the condescension within an instant. "Well, isn't she right?"

He looks to her now, unamused. "Don't think any of it fucking matters, anyway."

"Why?"

He pauses. "Cause I'm already dead."

For a moment, she's not quite sure what he means. Maybe he means Void. Maybe he means his time in Eichen House. Maybe he means his life outside.

Either way, she feels the tinge of anxiety tug at her heart. "Well, isn't that what you wanted?" She forces herself to appear indifferent. Uninterested. "Wanted the voice to kill you?"

He leans back as Lawson flicks his stare between them, clearly caught off-guard. "Doesn't really matter what I want, does it?"

"It does if you have a chance to change it."

"I don't."

"Maybe you do."

"I don't." His volume rises as he places his forearms on the table and leans forward. "You don't know him like I do, Royal."

"I think I do," she corrects, head cocking to the side as she offers a pointed look. "You made sure of that."

The three sit quietly around the table before Lawson clears his throat and thrusts his chin forward. "Col, your turn."

But Colin doesn't move quite yet. He keeps his stare on Royal as a frown finds its way to his lips. Then, he reaches for a pawn and moves it forward, forcing Lawson to groan as his King is knocked off the board.

He clearly doesn't plan to respond, so Royal clears her throat and straightens up. "Maybe there's another way."

"I don't want another way," he says within an instant. "This is it. The end of the fucking line."

"Says who?"

"Says everyone." His teeth are gritting as he looks away. "And I wouldn't think you'd care—"

"Well, I do." She surprises herself with how quickly the truth slips out. Surprises him, too. "I don't know why, but...I do. And I think I know how to fix it."

"I don't want to fix it."

"Why?"

"Because I don't fucking deserve it."

Truthfully, she can't quite argue with him, but her arms cross, nonetheless. "Maybe not. But I still think you should try."

"Why?" His icy stare turns to her. "Why would I wanna keep myself alive when death would feel so fucking good?"

Poor Lawson has nearly given up on the game, chin in the palm of his hand, looking between them as if watching a tennis match.

"Because being free would feel so much better," Royal argues with a scoff, as if that should be obvious. "Unless what you're really trying to say is that you don't want to let him go."

His lip turns up in disgust, leaning back as if she'd slapped him. "Is that what you think of me?" His tenor is venomous, nearly causing her confidence to falter. "That I'd be so fucking weak to rely on something as pathetic as that thing to save me?"

The moment the threat leaves his mouth, she feels the dark fog finds its way back into her mind, signaling Void's return.

He's upset with the way he's being spoken about.

But if Colin feels his presence too, he doesn't let on.

"That I'd rely on a fucking virus to bring me some peace? That I'd need him to show me what to do? That I'd listen to a fucking thing he has to say?"

"Didn't you?" She asks the question before she can stop herself. "Didn't you give him exactly what he wanted?"

"He'll never get what he wants," Colin hisses, the cadence in his tone so threatening, she feels her heart drop. "You don't know anything about what I've done to survive."

"You aren't surviving." She swallows the fear before it can make itself known. "You're slipping away. You're dying, Colin, and if you'd just—"

"And you think I should listen to you instead?' A bitter laugh, his head shaking as Lawson's brows raise. "Think you know this fucking thing better than I do?"

Easy.

They both still at Void's entrance. Colin, although giving little to no reaction, pulls his fingers into a fist in outrage.

"See?" he mumbles viciously, nodding his chin at her. "Never fucking stops."

You'd do well to listen. She offers a deal I cannot refuse.

A subtle grimace on Colin's face as he glances away, refusing to acknowledge the request.

"Col?" Lawson leans forward now, fingers gently finding his arm as he glances over his friend's profile. "You all right, mate?"

"M'fine," he seethes, jaw clenching as he flinches away from the touch before abruptly standing to his feet.

He reaches out, moving a piece toward the middle of the board as he murmurs, "There. You win."

With that, he turns on his heel and strides for the door.

Startled, confused, and somehow even more agitated than when they started, Royal leaps to her feet and takes off after him, calling a quick apology to Lawson who simply blinks at the game as he struggles to catch up.

The blonde-haired boy has already disappeared into the hallway by the time she manages to catch up, slipping through another doorway as she hisses his name.

"Col—Colin." He won't turn around. Won't even acknowledge her behind him, and this forces her steps to become quicker. "Hey."

She huffs to herself as she follows his trail before suddenly colliding with his chest once they make it into an empty, unused room.

His fingers find her arm as he yanks her all the way inside, using his elbow to thrust the door shut.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" he seethes, tossing her back as if he can't bear to touch her. "What, you're conspiring with it now?"

Her lashes flutter as she attempts to regain her balance, palming meeting her skin where his touch had been. "No, I just—"

"I leave you alone for one fucking night and you've already planned my fucking execution?" He's outraged, voice coarse and vile.

"No. We're just trying—"

"Oh, you're a 'we' now, huh?" Another contempt-filled laugh. "I fucking knew it. Slides his way between your legs and suddenly you'll do anything he asks, yeah?"

She can feel her lungs constrict with the rage that follows his demeaning comment, her hands finding his chest as she shoves. "Last time I fucking checked, you were the one doing what he asked, were you not?"

"That's not what he asked." The admittance is hissed as if Colin himself is outraged at the accusation.

Royal leans back, a bit startled by his outburst. "No? Then what is it he needed your cooperation for?"

A beat. The truth appearing behind his eyes but not appearing on his lips.

She waits, hoping he'll finally clue her into his true intentions, once and for all.

His shoulder rolls back as he makes an aggravated noise. "S'not important—"

"It is," she argues instantly, expression hardening. "And you know it."

He's afraid you won't like the answer.

She feels the tremor run down her spine as Colin winces, recoiling away from her.

"I don't care," she tells them both, taking a step closer, her eyes on Colin. "Just tell me what he made you do, Colin."

I hardly see why it matters, Little Fox.

"I'm not talking to you." Her voice is clipped. Short. "I'm talking to him."

Colin's focus remains on the floor before it lifts to find her. "He's right, it doesn't matter now—"

"It matters," she repeats, more forcefully than she had intended, but rather pleased with herself for remaining composed. "It matters because I was starting to trust you and I'd fucking hate to see that go to waste."

He scoffs again. Louder. Turning away as he shakes his head and looks out into the empty room. "Oh, yeah. That'd be fucking tragic, wouldn't it?"

She straightens up. Braces herself. "It would. I think we could both use the company in a place like this."

"I don't need your company. Got enough fucking company already," he retorts, and she's reminded of the fog still ever-present in her mind.

It's almost as if she can feel it bristle. Annoyed with Colin's tone.

"I think you could use someone on your side," she corrects, and she notices him still. "You want to get rid of him, right? Well, I can help you. As long as you help me—"

"Help me? You wanna help me?" He repeats her question as if he can't even fathom such a proposition. Muscles tensing as he turns back to her. "And why the fuck would you wanna do that?"

She doesn't let herself flinch at his aggression, simply taking a step closer to him as his eyes flick up and down her frame suspiciously. "Because you don't have anybody else. And even you don't deserve this."

Don't waste your breath, Little Fox. Our pathetic little sycophant doesn't understand the gift he's been given.

"Oh, yeah?" Colin snorts, head turning away as he speaks to the voice. "What fucking gift?"

A pause. The seconds crawling by just as the eerie feeling crawls along her skin. And then—

Her.

She'd likely be flattered if it didn't almost sound like a threat.

And Colin takes notice of this as well, his frown deepening as his lip pulls up in a look of disdain. "Funny. You don't treat her like a gift."

He sneers the word as if it tastes bitter on his tongue, which she doesn't doubt that it does.

But she brushes the comment aside, moving closer to him once more. "Colin. I need you to work with me. I need you to trust me."

He regards her for a moment, his chest rising and falling with the soft breaths he's taking. "Why the fuck are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

His hands begin to raise into the air, flailing about as he attempts to verbalize his confusion. "This. Trying to fucking help me and shit. Being nice to me."

She leans back, lashes fluttering. She had debated being honest. But she supposes there really isn't a point in hiding now.

"Because I'm already dying."

His brows pull together as his eyes narrow in suspicion, head tilting slowly as he waits for her to elaborate.

And she does, with a soft bob of her shoulder. "I'm already dying. I'm already in pain. And alone. If I become his host, nothing really changes. And, you know...you don't deserve to die because of him."

She notices a twinge of sadness behind his eyes, but it disappears before she can call it out.

"So, as long as you're honest with me...I want to help," she finishes, voice softening as he seems to mull this over. "And like you said...you have nothing to lose."

More silence as the seconds pass, her heart hammering inside her chest as she waits. For what, she's not quite sure. She supposes she wants his help. Supposes she wants a friend.

His teeth scrape together as he sighs, "I agreed to let him use me to talk to you. Just to talk to you. But he never fucking said that fucking you would let him into your mind."

Her pulse races, her skin growing hot. "Oh."

His head shakes, eyes squeezing shut. "I just...I thought...I thought maybe you'd be able to understand him. It. That if you talked to it, you'd find its weakness, like you said."

"Right," she can't help but agree. Because he's right. She had agreed to talk to Void.

"But...then—" He sucks in a sharp breath, cheeks flushing as if he can't bring himself to reveal the rest, and her stomach flips. "Then it just...he kept goading me. Kept saying a bunch of shit about you and I couldn't...I didn't—"

"What did he say?" She sounds rather desperate, but perhaps she is. Desperate to know what Void thinks of her. What Colin truly thinks of her.

Another beat. He takes in a deep breath. Holds it. Studies her. Looks for any fear or judgment. "He...after you sent him away. The first time, he...he just kept telling me how good you felt. How needy you were."

She swallows the lump in her throat, eyes widening as he looks to the ground.

"And I could...I could feel it," he murmurs. "I could feel what he felt. How you felt. In my hands. Could taste you. Could feel what it felt like when he...when he took your pain. How fucking...good it felt. Taking it. Taking you. Consuming you."

A thickness to his voice forces a blush to her cheeks. A visual in her mind of that night now replaying in her head.

A feeling of lust.

She imagines she should be aghast. Offended and outraged that he went behind her back just because she felt good.

And yet...she steps closer to him. As if she physically needs the proximity to survive.

"Did it?" she whispers as if desperate to hear him say it once more. "Did it feel as good as you wanted it to?"

She's not sure she even knows what she's saying. Or why.

And yet, the moment she's reminded of the blissful pleasure she felt with him on that tattered couch, she can think of nothing else. Can want nothing else.

His breath hitches as he looks down at her. "Yes," he admits, tone so low she nearly misses it.

She nods, taking this in before moving even closer and letting her knuckles brush his. He visibly tenses but doesn't pull away, and she wonders why. Wonders why this feels so right.

"What are you doing?" he murmurs now, a slight edge to his question, but she isn't deterred.

"I don't know." The admission comes easily. Because it's true. She doesn't know what she's doing or why, but she also doesn't plan to fight it. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No." It's whispered into the air so urgently that she feels her knees go weak. The gentle strain of his muscles as he attempts to collect himself doing sinful things to her body and mind. "I just...I don't think you want..."

She does.

The air seems to thin the moment that familiar voice invites himself into their tender moment.

And she had assumed it would spook Colin. Force him back into the shadows of his denial, but instead, he reaches out to grab her arm.

He shoves her back against the door, almost violently as he seethes, "Don't."

Her lips part, ready to question him, until she realizes who he's really speaking to.

And surprisingly, Void has no response. No argument for the blonde boy. It's as if he concedes to Colin's request and she can't help but feel a bit shocked.

Colin's forehead dips until it can rest against hers, and the rather delicate gesture has her reeling.

"Do you trust me?" he asks her now, his voice but a gentle whisper, and she exhales a shaky breath at the dangerous undertone slipping through.

She wonders if she should trust him. If Colin is really so different from Void.

Or if it even matters at all.

"I do." The coil in her stomach tightens as he nods once, seemingly pleased. "I do, I trust you."

His hips find hers, keeping her trapped against the door as if he thinks she'd really go anywhere else. "Good."

And maybe she should be concerned at how quickly she slipped into this drunken state of lust and desire.

But maybe she just doesn't give a shit.

And with that thought in mind...

She kisses him.

~ Weedboiii Void | 6. Let's Make a Deal

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onlydylanobrien

Dylan O'Brien with a fan. (September 2, 2022)

📷©: ??

bundibird

Hfkshdjsf has anyone told dylan obrien that he's missing???

freedomfireflies-deactivated202

Can we get an angsty Thomas blurb? 👀

“Hey. Hey. Don’t fucking walk away from me when I’m talking to you. Hey—”

Thomas’s fingers find your arm, tugging furiously as you’re yanked to a halt, nearly colliding with his chest as he demands your attention.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hisses, pressure hard along your skin, as if attempting to shake the answer from you. “Huh? The fuck was that—”

“I told you, I’m done,” you respond flatly, expression bored as you slip your arm from his grasp. “Do whatever you want, I’m not staying to watch.”

You turn, striding toward the ruins of buildings before you, ready to disappear into the crowd of people before Thomas is brushing past you and coming to a stop.

“Enough,” he barks, a distraught look on his face as you’re forced to freeze. “S’this cause of what Gally said? Cause he’s wrong. It’ll be easy—”

“It’s not about Gally and you know that—”

“Then what?” He straightens up, eyes flicking between yours as he waits. Waits for an answer he already has.

You purse your lips shut. You nod your chin at him. Wait for him to connect the pieces himself.

And you watch as he does. Watch the way his brows pull together and his teeth scrape. “Really?”

“Really,” you agree, arms crossing. “I’m not putting Minho’s life on the line for your ego.”

“I’m not—” He stops, quickly lowering his voice as he glances around. “M’not fucking putting his life on anything. This is just our only chance to get him back—”

“No. It’s not.” You take a step closer to him, searching his face for any sign of something you can trust. “You know the right thing to do and you’re not doing it. Which shouldn’t really be a surprise at this point, and yet here we are.”

The muscles in his jaw constrict. “This is the right thing—”

“No, the right thing to do is go with Gally, and you don’t want to because you’d rather get everybody killed than admit he might know what he’s doing,” you correct, a rather disappointed lilt in your tone.

He moves closer to you, nearly nose to nose as he glances down with vicious contempt and murmurs, “And you think I should give two fucking shits about Gally after everything he’s done? After what he did to Chuck? To all of us? You think I should throw a fucking parade and follow him into battle?”

You don’t fall victim to his attempt for dominance, merely straightening up as you respond, “I remember what he did. I’ll always remember. Just like I remember how he saved our asses from getting lit up and knows the layout better than we do. If he says your way isn’t possible, then I believe him because sometimes, you don’t use your head.”

A bitter scoff. He glances away. Pretends to be oblivious. “Don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Why don’t you really wanna do this?” Your voice softens, hoping to expel the truth. “Can’t just be about Gally because even you know he’s our best chance at getting to Minho. What’s really going on?”

Again, Thomas hesitates, fingers flexing by his side as he regards you suspiciously. “Nothing, I just don’t think it’ll work—”

“Is this about Teresa? About what she said last time we were there?”

His eyes widen, frown deepening as he leans back, clearly taking great offense. “What? No, s’not about her—”

“Are you worried about Newt?”

Another indifferent scoff. “I’m always fucking worried about Newt, but that’s not—”

“Brenda will be there, Thomas. If we can trust anybody, we can trust her—”

“It’s not about that—”

“Then what?”

Now, you both still, voices having risen until you’re teetering on the edge of screaming.

He’s silent now, chest heaving as he battles the real answer in his mind. Refuses to let you in. Refuses to just admit what you’re afraid you already know.

“We’re not doing it that way,” he finally huffs, voice coarse like gravel. “Okay? It won’t work and it’s too dangerous.”

“It’s not dangerous, it’s simple—”

“No.” The excessive force of his refusal has you leaning back, heart hammering in your chest.

Despite your better judgment, you snort, brushing past him as you mumble, “Fine. Then like I said, I’m done.”

You expect him to let you go. Let you storm off and have your little fit while he goes back to camp and rounds everybody up. Expect him to go raid the back hallways of WCKD no matter how fucking stupid you know it is.

But, to your surprise, he doesn’t do any of that, instead striding after you as your arm is grabbed—yet again—until you’re forced around.

“Don’t,” he’s quick to hiss, soft breath hitting the shell of your ear.

You struggle, offering a bored look in return as you glance over your shoulder. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t do whatever it is you’re fucking planning.” He lets go, but steps to the side until you can see his face a bit clearer. “All right? I know you. So whatever it is you think you’re gonna do…don’t.”

His memory might not be his strong suit, but he is right about one thing. You do have a plan.

But you let him believe he’s won. At least for now. Because it’ll be much easier to ask his forgiveness than his permission.

“Fine,” you agree before returning to your stride. “I’ll stay right fucking here like a good little dog. Exactly the way you want.”

His eyes narrow at your obvious jab but you don’t mind. Because it worked. That is all he wants. For you to obey.

Although, he should know by now that it’s not about obeying. But about doing what’s right.

No matter the cost.

And he should also know exactly where you learned that from.

After all, nobody disobeys better than Thomas.

So that night, with Gally, Brenda, and Newt by your side, you proceed with Gally’s plan. The one Thomas was so sure wouldn’t work.

And in fact, it does work.

Gally, Brenda, and Newt sneak their way through the halls of WCKD dressed as Med Staff with you as their patient.

It’s an easy in. You make it to the main floor, slipping past the different security guards as you search the halls for Minho.

To your disappointment, you don’t find him, and time is running out. With a heavy heart, Newt declares you’ll all have to try again later.

With little to no hold-up, the four of you manage to make it back through the back alleys of the Last City and through the wall without suspicion.

It’s not until you finally arrive back on base that the real trouble begins.

The doctors, security, Ava, and Ratman? All easy.

But Thomas?

Possibly the only person you’re all actually terrified of.

He’s waiting with a scowl. Arms crossed and jaw clenched as you slip through the gate.

Frypan, Jorge, Aris, and about five others stand behind him. They seem curious to know what you’ve found, but before any of you get the chance to divulge the details, Thomas steps closer.

And your heart sinks.

“Where the fuck…have you been?”

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freedomfireflies-deactivated202

OML YOUR DOB IMAGINE IS *chefs kiss*. Could you do one with Mitch Rapp? I don't wanna pressure you it's your choice, but if you decide to do it can it be smut?

im a whore for him help

Truthfully, you know better. You really do.

Yet that doesn’t seem to stop you from finding your place in front of Mitch’s door that fateful Saturday night.

You know he’s in there. Heard him come back to the compound an hour or so ago. Had decided then that you wouldn’t let that night mean nothing. That you wouldn’t let what happened in the hallway be forgotten.

For days, you’ve been arguing with yourself that what he said—what he did—was merely the result of increased adrenaline and the thrill of success. That he was drunk. Drunk with power, drunk with alcohol, and drunk with the knowledge that he’d done what couldn’t be done. That’s all it was.

But no matter the excuse you create, you can’t shake the image from your head. Can’t erase the feel of his fingertips. Can’t erase the way he looked at you as you brushed the hair back from his forehead. Can’t erase the way his lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “It’s always been you.”

The next, he’d acted as if it had never happened. As if he’d forgotten.

But it did happen. And you don’t think you’ll ever forget.

With a quick breath, your knuckles rap against the door. You wait for a moment, listening intently for any telltale signs of movement.

You hear the sound of rustling. Perhaps the shift of a sheet. The creak of a mattress.

But no footsteps.

You knock again before calling, “Mitch? It’s me, can we…can we talk?”

Another sound. Deeper. You lean closer, ear pressing to the wood as you attempt to decipher. It’s his voice, you know that much, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. Maybe he’s inviting you in. Maybe he’s inviting you to leave.

You can’t really be sure and the anxious hollow in your stomach merely intensifies with each passing second.

So, with a burst of self-assurance, you straighten up, twist the handle, and thrust the door open.

Your eyes find his first. That soft, golden brown you’re so used to. Comforting, almost. Familiar.

Then, you notice his hair. The way it’s fallen across his forehead, sweaty and disheveled. The way it drapes over his eyebrows as he peers across the room at you.

You notice the slight flush in his cheeks. The heave of his chest. Notice the nakedness of his skin, your gaze traveling down his clenched jaw toward the rapid ripple of his stomach.

And then…you see.

You see his hand, tight around his cock as he pumps up and down in a swift, urgent motion.

For a moment, you’re not quite sure what to do. What to think. You stand, frozen in the doorway, eyes wide and heart racing as you watch him.

You expect him to stop. To cover. To feel just as startled as you do.

Yet, he doesn’t.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t hide. Doesn’t attempt to excuse it away. Doesn’t even yell at you for coming into his room.

Instead…he groans.

And not the same groan you’re so used to hearing from him. Not a groan of exasperation or disapproval.

A salacious groan. Lust-filled and needy. So desperate and depraved, you feel the way your stomach flips for an entirely different reason.

Now he’s not the only one flushed.

Your lips part, ready to call his name. Ask him what he’s doing. Maybe apologize for barging in.

And yet, there’s something in his expression that forces your feet to bring you further into the room. Closer to where he sits against the headboard with his legs strewn out before him.

He watches you like a hawk, following the movement as you slowly make your way to the right side of the bed.

You’re desperate to hear that sound again. Desperate to be a part of this moment. With him.

Your eyes flick down to his hand. The veins ever prominent in his arm as he squeezes the tip of his cock. As his head rolls back against the wall behind him and he sucks the air through his teeth in a hiss.

Mesmerized by the drip coating his knuckles, your fingers dance about the air as if reaching out for him.

But you slow, pulling back slightly as you look up. As you search for a sign. Permission. Encouragement.

You haven’t exchanged a single word thus far. And yet you almost know what he’d say even without him ever getting the chance to say it.

And you’re proven correct when your name is whispered from his lips like a promise, pulling you closer until you’re sitting directly next to his leg.

Your pulse races. Skin hot as you watch him. Entranced by his beauty. By the clench of his jaw and the flutter of his lashes as the pleasure nearly overtakes him.

You’ve reached the point of no return. You don’t imagine you’ll ever forget this moment for the rest of your life. Don’t imagine you’ll ever be able to look at him again and not remember the way he looks like right now.

You don’t even realize that your legs have begun to part, your fingers subconsciously finding their way to your thighs as if desperate for your own relief.

But Mitch notices. Almost immediately. Watching the scratch of your nails along your sweatpants rather anxiously as another soft whine breaks free from his lips.

And before you really have a chance to stop yourself, your hand is slipping beneath the band of your sweats until you feel exactly how aroused you really are by this scene.

Your head drops, chin finding your chest as you take a slow, steady breath. Your touch is light. Quick. Dipping inside for only a moment until you suck in a sharp gasp.

Mitch shifts beside you, straightening up as his rhythm begins to falter. “Shit…shit, lemme see. Please…please let me see.”

You lean back, palm finding the mattress behind you as you brace yourself and meet his eye.

However, instead of obliging to his request, you smirk, tugging your lip between your teeth as you curl your finger in once more.

Your jaw drops at the sensation. The ache. So sharp and blinding that you can’t resist the soft whimper you exhale.

Mitch’s teeth grit in response as he tugs at his cock once more, the sound clearly doing sinful things to his body and mind.

You tease him a bit more. Merely because you can. Because it’s him. And he so fucking deserves it after everything he’s done.

Your thumb finds your clit, the slightest amount of pressure enough to leave you jolting in response. Hand completely disappearing beneath your sweats as you feel yourself out, desperate for that rush.

“Fuck—” His resolve is crumbling, his motions becoming quick and focused. “Take ‘em off. Don’t make me ask you again.”

Your head shakes fervently, eyes fluttering shut as you indulge in the feel of pleasure coursing through your veins.

Suddenly, however, you feel a tight pressure around your wrist as you glance back up to see his hand, soaked and strained, tugging your arm closer.

You’re pulled forward, eyebrows flying up your forehead as you still about two inches from his face.

His breath, labored and stressed, tickles at the hairs near your cheeks as his dark stare finds yours.

“You’re gonna take them off,” he repeats lowly, and you can feel the chill run down your spine. “And then you’re gonna take me down that pretty little throat.”

You can do nothing but melt into the feel of his rough touch around your hand, so aroused from such a simple action that your brain begins to spin.

“Is that understood?” he asks now before his eyes quickly fall to your lips and you’re left to pant desperately.

You can do nothing but nod, the softest whimper slipping out once he lets go and your chest deflates.

“Good girl,” he murmurs proudly before nodding his chin at you and smirking. “Go on.”

So…

You do.

Full Masterlist

ragweed98

Mitch Rapp X Reader oneshot

Warnings: massive sexual tension build up??

Y/n snuck into the warehouse where Rapp was being held hostage, arms handcuffed and secured overhead, though whoever had gotten lucky enough to capture him wasn't smart enough to secure his feet so he just stood there.

Y/n, seeing he's too tall to reach comes to the conclusion that she's got to climb him to pick the handcuffs.

"Sorry in advance for this Rapp, but I'm too short"

"What are you--" Mitch gets cut off as you jump up and climb him as professionally as possible, locking your ankles around his waist.

As you start to pick the handcuffs ignoring the awkward angle you jokingly think to yourself that Mitch at least has to keep his hands to himself until you hear a snicker from him. Looking down, he glances up, the briefest flash of mischief crosses his face and then he lets out a small groan, his head hanging back, exposing his throat to you. You bring two fingers down to his pulse point, hand partially wrapping around his throat but his heartbeat seems normal, if not a little on the fast side. Adrenaline or biological toxin tests, you think bringing your hand back up to work the cuffs.

Still wary of your surroundings you ask Mitch if they drugged him at all, his only answer was another small moan but then his head came up and fell forward. You blushed as Rapp face planted into your chest, though you managed to hold your composer, asking him what he thought they'd drugged him with. Suddenly you felt little kisses along the tops your breasts, then a little sucking sensation causing you to slide down Mitch in surprise. He groaned at the loss of contact both above and below and you glared up at him as you hiked yourself back up his mountain of muscle to finish picking his handcuffs and extract him.

"Now is not the time" you whisper yelled at him.

"So there's a right time?" Mitch asked innocently.

"You know perfectly well this is a professional relationship and we can't do anything about anything, there!" As you took the handcuffs off one of his wrists, slipping it out of the chain to unlock the other one at ground level Rapps hands came down before you could climb off, wrapping around your thighs and slammed you into the wall nearby.

"Is this okay?" He asked, breathing heavily, digging his fingers deep into your legs like he was holding himself back from things you never even even dreamed of.

Your brain function was atruggling to remember to breath as you managed to start to answer him, "Mitch I didn't clear the area, this was a stealth mission I -"

Soft lips cut you off and you melted into his hard body, knowing all the spots that made him tick from the countless hours of tension filled sparring together.

As you threaded your fingers into his hair, he leaned into you, released your legs to snap both handcuffs onto your wrists and fold his fingers with yours to force them over your head.

"I assume you only "needed" my help when it suited you?" You cocked an eyebrow at him for getting the second cuff off without you noticing, though you would admit you may have been unfocused and let it slip past.

"I guess so" he smirked

freedomfireflies-deactivated202

hi! i know you mostly do harry, but is there any chance you'd do a dylan o'brien imagine? i'll take anything you wanna write 😭 (especially smut 👀)

Smut it is 😏

“Quiet—hey. Quiet. All right? Be my good girl and be fucking quiet.”

His palm, cemented firmly to your lips, tightens as he dips down, forcing your eyes on him and him only.

You do your best, truly. Your back taut to the wall he has you up against, your hands secured by the tie you tore off his neck, and your thighs absolutely soaked and dripping in anticipation.

Still, his resolve prevails, showcasing his profile now as he glances toward the hallway where the voices were first heard.

“Easy,” he murmurs, other hand finding its way back to your leg as he begins to find his way back up. “Yeah? You’ll be good, won’t you?”

Not really a question. An order. One that you’re not quite sure you can agree to given the circumstances.

His compulsive need to have you at the worst possible times is typically one of your favorite things about him but now?

Now you’re gonna fucking kill him.

He’s been teasing you all damn day. In the car on the way to dinner. At the table. With his parents. His fingers underneath the napkin on your lap, pushing your dress higher until you were crossing your legs and sending him a very pointed look.

And even now, keeping you firmly against the small coat closet door as he does his very best to ruin you just with his words alone before he even thinks about fucking you.

Asshole.

You aren’t surprised, truly. How can you be? After all, you can’t really be anything right now except needy and desperate as the hours and hours of anticipation come to a point.

The same point where his fingers now meet. Where they press and smooth. Where they flick and curl. And fuck—he’s way too proud of himself right now.

And for some reason…you love it.

He shifts, cocky grin widening as he nods his chin at you. “Fucking look at you.”

As if encouraged to do just that, you let your head drop, eyes following the movement of his wrist as he feels you out, the sounds like sinful music to your ears, forcing you to exhale deeply against his hand.

You swallow another throaty groan, the gentle but practiced pressure he applies almost too overpowering to think straight. To stand.

You can feel the way you’re drawn to the high. Yanked. Forced to take every ounce of pleasure as he curses through gritted teeth.

“Shit.” His forehead meets yours, eyes focused on the way you drip for him. The way his fingers look when they disappear inside. When they come out, coated in you. “Fuck, angel—”

His chest is heaving, much like yours, and you whimper against the skin of his hand as he pulls you closer to the edge.

The pressure of his thumb against your clit is almost unbearable. The precision of rubbing and flicking as if he knows your body better than you do, and honestly, you don’t doubt he does.

You are, however, curious about his sadistic need to drag this out when there clearly isn’t enough time. His parents will be curious to know where you’ve both gone and you’re not sure you’ll be able to look them in the eye when you return.

You attempt to mumble a plea, although it becomes lost in a whine as he begins to smirk.

“I know, angel, I know,” he coos, the dangerous cadence of his voice luring you closer. “S’good, yeah? Shit, feel so fucking good for me—”

His hand begins to slip, falling down to your throat as he squeezes once to reassure you.

“Dyl…please.” Your request comes out broken. Hoarse. Desperate beyond doubt and his eyes lift to yours.

And while you’re sure if it were any other time, he’d devote himself to feeling you come around him at least three separate times, he spares you tonight.

He waits until you’re just about to find your relief. Waits until your legs are shaking and you’re beginning to slide down the closet door.

His fingers find your lips. Coated and dripping as he stares, mesmerized. As he watches you extend your tongue until you can taste what he’s offering. Thumb swiping across the bottom lip in pure astonishment as he watches you suck him into his mouth.

After a moment, he’s quick to replace his hand with his tongue. Kissing you hard as your eyes flutter shut in bliss. As he groans into you with fervor. As he murmurs, “Fuck, taste so fucking good, angel—”

He’s gone before you realize it. Crouching down as he forces your thighs further apart. Until he can lick a stripe up your inner thigh and collect you on his taste buds.

You steel yourself. Body pressed tight to the door as he teases you just a bit further. As he flattens his tongue along each sensitive nerve until you’re gasping and attempting to twist away.

You feel the fucker smirk between your legs. Can see him do it. See him look so damn pleased with himself as he finally stands and pulls his zipper down.

Finally.

You imagine you’d likely drool if afforded the chance, but he’s bringing himself closer just as your body is beginning to ache for the feel before you can.

“Easy,” he instructs, his tone rather gentle despite the forceful feel of his fingertips along your leg as he hikes it up around his hip. “You all right?”

You nod quickly, watching with wonder. “Yeah, m’fine. Just…hurry—”

“I know. I know, angel—”

For a moment, you feel weightless. That first stretch. The first sensation as he buries himself so deep, your eyes roll back and your jaw drops.

Again, his forehead presses tight to yours. Another attempt at encouragement as you scratch at your palm, still tight behind your back.

“Shit—” He stills, finger rubbing comforting patterns into your cheek as he tugs your head higher. “You okay?”

Another nod, unable to speak until he moves. Until you feel.

He’s quick to accommodate. Bruises finding a place in your skin as he finally lets himself have you. As he finally pulls back just to drive himself forward once more until you clench. Until you gasp his name in ecstasy.

“Yeah?” Another sharp thrust before he stills, just to prolong the feeling. “Shit—so fucking tight, angel. Fucking missed this—”

“Dyl—”

“Easy.” His teeth scrape together as he attempts to restrain himself, although you watch him fail miserably as the veins in his neck strain against his skin. “Be my good girl, yeah? Take me like the fucking angel you are—”

His rhythm becomes unforgiving and determined. The sounds filling the small space as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. So overcome with the feel of you that you wish more than anything you could run your fingers through his hair.

“Please.” The whimper is small, nearly lost between his grunts, but he hears it nonetheless. His fingertips finding your clit to pinch a bawdy whine from your lips as you attempt to squirm away.

“Uh uh,” he tuts, tugging you back down with his other hand. “That’s not being good, is it? Be fucking quiet and take it.”

And you do your best. Do your best to take each second of salacious desire that builds deep in your stomach as he completely consumes your senses in more ways than one. As you practically give yourself to him.

And you can’t resist watching him. Watching that face you’ve grown to love. So beautiful and familiar. The curve of his nose. The little moles scattered around his face. The sweat along his hairline that you’re still desperate to touch. Pink, swollen lips.

You could stay here forever with him. Feeling him inside you. Filling you. Ushering you closer with each decadent praise.

He’s close. And you realize then that you’ve never wanted to have him come inside you more than right now. To have him. To drip with him. To be fully claimed by him. And you just…you need.

“Fuck.” His teeth tug at your skin, tracing his name with his tongue as his thrusts begin to falter. “Shit, angel. You gonna come with me? Please…please, baby, please—”

“Yes,” you murmur quietly, muscles burning as you’re forced to take everything he’s giving you. “Need to feel you so bad—”

He groans. Loud and with vehemence as his palm slams into the door beside your head. His eyes squeeze shut as his other hold continues to tug you down onto his cock.

And you’re both so close. So close to what you really want, and you’ll die if you don’t feel him soon. It’s so perfect. So complete and you’ve never—

A knock. A knock on the door behind you.

You both still, expression horrified and confused as you hear the familiar sound of Dylan’s name being called.

Your eyes meet and there’s really only one thing either of you can say.

“Shit.”

Full Masterlist

noyzinerd

Here’s an interesting fact: the left and right sides of Dylan O'Brien’s face are aging at different rates.

So, a couple years back, Dylan suffered a facial fracture that required major reconstructive surgery. They did a really good job. At the time, both sides looked pretty similar and it was hard to tell which side had the surgery.

You can kind of tell where the surgery is in the above picture because he has no creases on one side of his forehead and the wrinkles stop abruptly in the middle. Other than that, you couldn’t really tell back in the day, especially in pictures with his brow smoothed out, like this one:

Since then, Dylan seems to have healed completely with no facial muscle weakness or nerve damage.

HOWEVER, now that Dylan is getting older and is starting to show visible signs of aging, the skin under his left eye (the right side in pictures) has become more pronounced, with sometimes deeper set lines, puffier skin, or a darker under-eye.

This is because the skin under his right eye (the left side in pictures) is “newer” and is still taut. The right side of his face is essentially younger than the left side of his face.

This is a little easier to notice in pictures of lower quality (when you click on a pic in Google Images and there’s those few seconds of it loading before the image has fully sharpened). The shadows and highlights around his eyes are easier to see.

I don’t know. I think it’s kinda neat. Dylan O'Brien has always been this cute, asymmetrical wonder with his scattering of moles, his quirked smile, that weird, little, palm-sized patch of chest hair that always grows in full in the direct center of his chest before the rest of his chest hair even has a chance to catch up, and now his anachronistic face. This charming scamp. It’s like looking at a spotted puppy with one straight-up ear and one floppy ear.