#this mf was in some of the worst relationships and thought feeling miserable and alone was normal and i got to show them that it should be

[a-ikuoliver]

not to get too deep at 1pm on a saturday but its so comforting knowing that even if my partner and i aren't endgame, we've both grown and changed for the better and we've taught each other a lot and they'd be okay without me if it came down to it

[perlocutionary]

Christmas Miracle, pt. 1 - Dylan O’Brien

Description: When money falls short, Dylan will do anything to get Y/N to not spend the holidays by herself.  Relationship: Dylan O’Brien x Reader

Title: Consider this your lucky day Word count: 1905

A/N: I had hoped to get into the Christmas spirit by writing a three-shot-Christmas-centered Dylan. Sadly, didn’t work. But hey, at least I wrote! Happy holidays everyone.

PART 2

So I saw this post of @mf-despair-queen and @minhosmeanhoe about Holi-Dyl’s week and even though I was planning on posting this (three-part) Dylan shot, I’ve added the tag/them it’s such a nice idea!! There should be a little more love in the world and even though I’m fairly new, from what I’ve seen of this family, it’s something I’d gladly be a part of. Happy reading! 

“Thank you. Happy holidays!” I smile at the young couple as I collect their check and a not-so-generous tip, my smile immediately faltering as soon as I hear the bell chime, indicating their departure. A sigh leaves my lips, my hand roughly running along my face as I walk back up to the register. I see the pitiful look my coworker throws me, but I try to ignore it to my best abilities as I hear the door bell chime through the small café once more.

“I need a damn Christmas miracle over here.” I sigh, dropping my pen onto the countertop as I lean against it, tilting my head back and staring up at the plentiful sparkling lights that decorate the bar. “Well then, consider this your lucky day.” His voice is raspy but playful, and even before I turn around I know the smirk that graces his lips.

My head whips around and I smile at my best friend, his upper body leaning against the counter as he grins brightly in my direction. I skip over to him, throwing my arms around his neck and hauling his face against my chest, chuckling when a loud grunt of protest leaves his lips. “Dylan! What are you doing here?”

I let go of him and he drops back into his bar seat, lifting his Mets cap off his head and running his fingers through his unruly mess of hair. I slide a freshly tapped beer his way, his eyes twinkling underneath the low Christmas lights above his head as he nods at me as a silent thank you. “Got off work early, thought I’d come in and check on my lovely lady friend.”

A snort leaves me before I can think twice, wiping my hands on a nearby towel, my eyes never leaving Dylan. I had met the culprit somewhere in the middle of the Teen Wolf days when he, as dorky as he can get, ran me over and send me reeling into a puddle of water, drenching me from head to toe.

It was the beginning of a friendship I never knew that I had missed as long as I had lived, although I would never change any of the course of events. Dylan turned out to be one of my best friends, my confidant, sort of like an older brother, and worst of all – my crush. I would never act upon any feeling that would crawl onto my skin whenever Dylan was near, mainly for the reason of not wanting to jeopardize this friendship.

And it didn’t matter. I wasn’t miserable hiding these feelings from him – au contraire. I somehow was glad that I could keep this one little secret from him – because anything else would be on the table as soon as Dylan would squint at me.

I shake my head as I drop the towel again, licking along my lipstick-clad lips as I roll my eyes. “And why are you really here?”

A groan leaves Dylan’s lips, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, before he lifts his beer to his lips to take a generous sip. His tongue drags along his bottom lips, collecting the foam that had collected there. My eyes snap from his pink lips to his eyes when I hear his voice again. “Can’t I be a gentleman?”

I shrug my shoulders, suppressing the grin that wants to break through as Dylan’s pout. “You probably can. Just not to me. Hey!” I exclaim loudly when his large hand swats in my direction and I’m just quick enough to avoid getting smacked across the chest by Dylan.

I walk around the counter, ready to clean the mess the young couple had left right before Dylan walked in, my fingers coursing through my unruly locks of hair. I had cursed myself on multiple occasions not bringing a hair tie. I only had a few hours left of my shift but during the lunch rush hour, I got sweaty and now I am awfully aware about the way my hair stick in every possible direction because of my sweaty hands and nervous habits.

Just as I pass Dylan, cleaning cloth in hand, his hand around my wrist stops me from walking past him, his unoccupied hand holding out a hair tie toward me. “You look great.” My heart warms as soon as the words leave his lips, my cheeks heating up to a rosy pink as I press my lips together. My eyes meet his whiskey-colored ones and I take a moment to mesmerize how more beautiful all these fairy lights make him.

“Seriously, are you here to tell me you ran over my dog? Because it’s starting to feel like it.” I wriggle my wrist in his embrace, his fingertips gliding along my skin to grasp my hand in his, intertwining our fingers. Sparks shoot up my arm, along my spine and I shiver visibly, casting my gaze from his to our hands. I’m pulled out of my own head again though when Dylan speaks up once again.

“You don’t even own a dog! And can’t you take a compliment when given? Damn girl.” I take a step closer to him, his hand falling limply against mine, but I still rest it there. My other hand comes up and fixes the hemline of his navy-blue shirt, smiling up at him as my thigh bumps against his knee.

“Well then, you don’t look to shabby yourself. But you already knew that. I have a thing for you, uh, looking like that!” My hand waves over his outfit, both our gazes following the movement as a chuckle passes my best friend. Dylan looked sharp in whatever he decided to wear or what wardrobe would put him in, but my favorite would always be this. Sweatpants, a simple shirt and his Mets cap. It screamed that he was at ease with whatever he was doing, and I couldn’t contain the butterflies that swerved in my stomach whenever I saw him smile at me.

“Maybe that’s why I do it.” He wiggles his eyebrows as his lips curl into a bright smile and I can’t help but chuckle while shaking my head. “Such a tease.” “Now, seriously, why I’m here…” Dylan starts off as he drops my hand from his larger one, my eyes widening as I slap his thick thigh, the loud smack resonating through the otherwise empty café. “I knew it! What’s up?”

His hand covers mine again and force me to keep them resting on his thighs, my upper body leaning closer to him as I wait for him to speak. Involuntarily, my grip tightens, and I feel his pants shift underneath my hands from the pressure, his own hands, covering mine, rubbing gently to calm my aching nerves.

“Tpose wants to celebrate New Year’s together. I was coming around to see if you’d be up for it.” A sigh of relief leaves my lips and I almost want to smack the stupid grin off Dylan’s face, but refrain myself the last moment. Tyler Posey was Dylan’s best friend and he was hilarious, but I had a feeling he knew how I felt toward Dylan. “Of course. I like Tyler, you know that.”

“Maybe you had other plans and didn’t want to celebrate the New Year with a bunch of dorks.” His hands leave mine and I take a step back, shaking my head as I swat the dampened cloth at his chest. “I would be honored to celebrate it with my dorks, Dyl.” I emphasize my words by patting his jaw a few times, turning away and starting to clean the table in the back.

It’s quiet for a few minutes before Dylan speaks again. “I have to go, though. Am I still seeing you tomorrow?” I hum as an affirmative answer, sliding the dirty dishes in the lift to take them to the kitchen, turning back on my heel toward the register. I don’t look at him as I take his bill, but as soon as I want to put it away my eyes widen in shock.

“Dylan, your drink is $4. Are you really trying to pay me with a hundred bill?” I slap the green paper back onto the counter, glare set in his direction with the littlest shakes of my head. Dylan immediately pouts at me, sliding the note back toward me. “Can’t I tip you?”

My eyes widen as I forcefully shove the hundred-dollar bill back towards him. It wasn’t the first time he was trying to hand me money – although this time he at least tried to be subtler about it. “Hell, no. Are you insane? You are not paying for my flight home, Dyl. I cannot stress this enough.” I sigh the end of my sentence, squeezing my eyes closed as my fingers pinch the bridge of my nose at my upcoming headache. As soon as I had mentioned I was taking extra shifts in hopes of paying for a flight back around the holidays, Dylan had been pestering me.

If he wasn’t trying to persuade me in letting him buy me said plane ticket home, he was trying to convince me to give up my flat and move in with him – to save some money. Although having a continuous sleepover with Dylan sounds like a lot of fun, I needed my space and me-time, and having to consort back to a roommate was something I would never consider doing.

I thought he had given up, but apparently Dylan still had some tricks up his sleeve. “Then, …” he starts off, nervously scratching the scruff that covers his jaw and chin, while averting his gaze from mine, “come with me.” I cock an eyebrow in his direction, pursing my lips as my fingernails create a rhythm along the counter with my own nervous tapping. “Celebrate Christmas with me.”

I contemplate my words, racking my brain to let him down as sweetly as possible without him nagging at me for this until the end of the week. I loved Dylan’s family and I wanted to believe it was reciprocated, but crashing a Christmas party wasn’t the same as coming over for the weekend because of a birthday of sorts. The fear of being unwelcome was a bit too fierce.

“Don’t even try.” Dylan warns me, his finger accusingly pointing in my direction. “I won’t let you stay here alone and wallow in your self-pity. This – This isn’t even a question, it’s a demand. You’re coming with me. I leave on Saturday, and you better have packed a bag for a few days, Y/N.” A small smile crawls onto my lips as I avert his fierce gaze, fumbling with my fingertips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, babe.” He leans over, dropping a five-dollar bill in front of me and pressing his lips firmly against my cheek, his nose squishing at the impact. Without a second thought, my hand lifts and I cup his jaw, eyelids fluttering as he already retracts. “’Morrow, Dyl.”

I watch him skip out of the bar and wave at me through the frost-tinted glass, disappearing from sight and down the sidewalk. I take a deep breath, shaking my head and almost scream when I see my coworker standing behind me. “That seems like you’ve gotten your Christmas miracle, Y/N.”

[greyred]

B F Normal.

So I got rid of everything.

Everything.

What does make it me to be  now?

Same as ever. Still regretting the one and only thing I had in my life. Never getting back it. Being anti-social AF. Still getting to bed with whoever I want, still drinking too much. Yeah, too much. That’s what You say! Not me! The Magnum I was playing with, did hurt me after all. I keep on hurting myself. Perhaps I do not know how to be a normal? Perhaps I was never a normal anyway. I know that! They don’t. Haven’t talked with no fam, no best friends, no nothing! Am having nightmares of nightmares. There is a new field for the MF-s!

Thought I was off of them. I wasn’t. Haven’t slept, haven’t seen nobody. Fighting with myself and food again. This time bulimia is the hardest.My worst enemy.

The insomnia is back as well. I am sober yet what does it make me to be? Stuck with other addictions of self-destructive ways. I avoid people because I hate people. Just want to be alone. Alone is nice. I can be sober and just do my dark things. 

It’s BS! I hate it(too)! I hate it and myself and life as it is! It’s all about getting the morning to evening! I think back and miss some people. But they wont play with me anymore. I’m like a little kid who  is a misfit. Their realistic minds are their “parents” to tell then - you should not play with that kid! She a socio-psycho-mental-path. So I remain to stay alone. ‘d be rather alone than makes anyone miserable as I am. 

I woke up after being abused once again and cried like a little bitch I am and thought - well there it is - all they want is ur body and fun. Not ur mind. Ur mind’s sick. And that makes me sick!

*I can’t get no sleep*

Hey there’s Christmas coming yo!

My last Christmas were one of my saddest ones. I just had to move away from my last apartment cos shit’s apartment’s rent got too high. Had to live temporarily with my fam. Yet my fam highly religious. Not the Christian well-Hello-Jesus!-religious but Lets-believe-now-new-prophet-religious, meaning Islam. So I was doing nothing. I remember it used to be the biggest events and biggest get-together with my family on Christmas. Now they whether died, gone, other-religious or murderous bitches around. Aint no nothing! All alone once again.

Havent even talked to Jesus for a long time. Have no idea what He doing. Hope he better than me. Knowing him, it probably is. I aint gon bitch about my life anymore. Gona be just You and ME - G - R. Well take one morning to evening and pass the time until there is no time to pass.

--

Had 2 photo-shoot ideas. cant even do them cos .. reasons.

Why do I have it? Why cant I just pull myself together? It’s because im sort with my menu anyway because of my diagnosis. i cant eat. Food is poison and food is pain. Bet heeey : BE NORMAL, Be fucking normal! Don’t drink, don’t do stupid stuff, don’t eat, dont feel, don’t sleep, don’t be in relationship, dont feel, dont do nothing and yet do a lot with literally doing nothing. It’s as mad as it sounds. And I if outta be exactly as my doctors say - then i’d be nothing, nothing at all. a living beautiful corpse who would feel nothing and nothing at all. Do I wanna be that?

No!

Do I want to be mentally fcuked up as I am?

No!

So what do I do ?

It doesnt matter if im sober or drunk. Im still fucked.

--

Im developing [--], I think. There are things I dont remeber i do. it doesnt matter what i consume. I made an ultimate test with all that soberness. I must tell u honestly - it as even worse. My BPD is becoming something else. Something I cant control. I have 2 sides of me. At least. And as unhappy i am with them, i also cant control them. Stuck. Stch AF!

[ Tis entry was written long ago and forgotten because of reasons. ]