dylan and his leather jacket

now or never || dylan o’brien au

word count: 11,502

warnings: cursing, fluff, and soul crushing angst (y’all can thank soph @sincerelystiles for that one)

author’s note: this is a 50′s era au and it is so long and i am genuinely so proud of this! thank you to my girls @sarcasticallystilinski @dumbass-stilinski @sincerelystiles @mf-despair-queen @sabrinas-wolves @thelittlestkitsune @dylan-ohbrien @ninja-stiles and @minhosmeanhoe for letting me constantly tease them with sneak peeks! enjoy! :)

paring: dylan o’brien / reader


coming soon

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before midnight (dylan massett)

warnings: i talk about boobs a lot. also there’s a mention of the sex trade deal from season 1 

word count: 1.566

a/n: i took an au from this and changed it up a bit

story line: you see him smoking by his truck every night outside the motel and one night you accidentally leave the curtains open when changing 

Originally posted by those--blue--eyes

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freaks forever [pt. 2]

dylan always looked fucking good.

but, while that may be true, eric doesn’t think dylan’s ever looked as good as he does throwing rocks at his tiny basement window at three am.

his weird wannabe-flamboyant-punk boyfriend was dressed how he always was; all black, very feminine, very angry.

prominent v-lines in his hips led down into skinny and clawed up black jeans clung tight to his legs, and a nine inch nails shirt was cut just above his belly button, which was, to eric’s surprise, adorned with a shiny silver ring.

fucking amazing.

eric slid easily out of his window, dylan’s arm helping him up, gently and quickly like a cool summer breeze.

“hey, sweetheart. what’s up?” eric laughed, following dylan to his car down the street. eric hangs his arm around dylan’s waist lazily, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and dylan lighting it.

“thanks, baby. nothing really, just gonna watch some fuckwads get their brains blown up in the big screen with a hot guy. how about you?” dylan giggled, leaning into eric’s touch.

“funny, i’m doin’ about the same, sugar.” they got to dylan’s black BMW, eric hopping in easily. dylan turned on the radio before he started driving, the angry screeching of johnny rotten playing softly through the speakers. eric raised an eyebrow.

dylan wailing along to the sex pistols was interesting enough to hold his attention the whole way to the dimly lit streets of downtown littleton.

“hop on out, baby, i’ll be there in a second.” eric did as he was told, shutting the door and leaning against the car, pulling the long sleeves of his shirt down his palms.

dylan followed eric out soon after, a familiar leather jacket now tugged over his bony arms. eric knew it was his, and he grinned, before pulling dylan in for a kiss. dylan had a mouth like every sunday-school sermon eric had ever heard.

“well,” eric said, “we should get going. almost midnight, dyl.”

the movie theater in their tiny town is honestly pretty disgusting. the carpet is dark red and sticky, it smells like chemical butter, and the man who sells them tickets takes a too-long look at dylan’s ass. it’s just, for lack of a better word, gross.

eric doesn’t mind, though. dylan’s arm is slung around his neck, his face is leaning on his shoulder, and he’s whispering shitty jokes into his ear. it’s fitting for dylan, as they stumble along into the right screening room, picking seats in the very back corner.

they share a seat, eric plopped in dylan’s lap, legs stretched out to the next seat beside them, head resting on dylan’s chest. it was dark, and cool, and eric felt like he was living in a dream.

thirty minutes into a shitty zombie movie, dylan breaks the silence between them.

“say, baby,” he mutters against eric’s skin, “wanna get outta here?” eric nods into dylan’s chest, taking his hand as they walk out of the dingy building.

“my place okay?” dylan offered, pulling his long hair back into a high ponytail before leaning into the driver’s seat of his shiny car.

“yeah, sure, whatever’s good,” eric replied, trying too hard to sound nonchalant. he always tried too hard.

dylan smiled widely, turning up the radio again, singing along loudly to a song eric had never heard before. dylan was…painfully adorable.

“so, nate might be home, and if you’re not cool with that or whatever, i can totally kick him out for tonight. fucker owes me.” dylan paused his singing but continued tapping on the steering wheel.

“oh! no big deal, nate’s the one with the spiky hair, right?” dylan confirmed that, in fact, nate had spiky blue hair and a snake tattoo on his neck.

“i told him not to get it, i was like, dude you’re never gonna get a job! and he’s like, dude i already have a job. so i’m like, what you’re gonna work at a gay nightclub for the rest of your life? i love him but damn, he’s an idiot.” dylan’s stories were always endearing, his overdone hand gestures and facial expression never failing to make eric laugh.

“this is it,” dylan pulled his keys out of the ignition, rushing over to open eric’s door for him. it was a sweet gesture, and dylan’s arm wrapped tightly around eric’s shoulders as they walked into the apartment building.

once dylan opened his apartment door, eric pulled him down to his height by the collar of his jacket, smashing their chapped lips together. dylan stumbled, using eric’s shoulders to steady himself.

“fuckin-my room okay?” dylan said, eric already pushing him down the hallway towards it. they staggered in through his door, toppling onto a messily made bed with a black comforter and bright red sheets.

eric’s on top of dylan, working his way awkwardly down dylan’s body. he was extremely inexperienced and it showed, arms fumbling and hands shaking. he was clearly nervous as hell. he reached the waistline of dylan’s jeans, mouth pressed against the skin near his hips. he sucked harshly on the surface, sliding his tongue across before popping off.

dylan arched his back, one hand in his hair, and one hand on eric’s shoulder, grabbing a fistful of fabric.

“fuck-eric-ah,” dylan choked out, “fuck no.” he flipped eric around so he was pinning him down, before peeling off his cropped shirt. dylan threw it across the room, before leaning back on top of eric, connecting their mouths again.

eric’s hands came down to his waist to pull his shirt up and off his body, hesitating for a second before thinking, fuck it.

dylan had to take a second to catch his breath after eric’s top came off. holy fucking christ, were those-

“they were a dare?” eric tried.

innocent rich boy had fucking nipple piercings. holy fuck, dylan was in love.

“they’re hot, is what they are.” dylan muttered, fingers coming up to touch them, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin. eric hissed at the contact, head thrown back onto the pillows behind him, fingers digging in to one of dylan’s arms.

“god, dylan,” eric whined, dylan’s mouth moving to slide his tongue over the silver metal lightly. eric yanked at dylan’s belt, dylan pushing his pants down the rest of the way, left in only boxers after the tugged his thick black boots off.

their lips connected again, eric’s hand entangling in dylan’s hair and scraping at his shoulders. dylan’s hips pinned him down on the bed, and grinded against him, making eric buck up, looking for relief.

soon enough eric’s jeans came off, and he was laying on top of dylan, lazily kissing at his neck. dylan pries him off, pressing a kiss to his mouth and biting his lip before he lifts his long fingers up to eric’s mouth.

eric opens his mouth to accommodate them, mouth closing softly around and sucking on them. dylan groans at the sight, palming himself with his free hand.

“m'gonna-fuck, baby-yeah?” dylan speaks choppily, and eric nods, sliding his boxers off.

he pushes himself down onto one of dylan’s fingers, slow and easy, eyes shutting tightly and mouth going slack.

“you look so good, honey,” dylan praised, nipping at eric’s earlobe. “fucking gorgeous.” eric loves the praise, begging dylan for more, anything more.

dylan obliges, easing two more fingers into eric, who takes it so well.

“you ever done this before, love?” dylan asks, crooking his fingers in a way that makes eric breath heavily.

“ah-no, not really, please,” eric tries, talking fast and slurred together.

“you want it?” and eric does, so bad, he just cries out loud as an answer. dylan tongues his way into his mouth, taking his fingers out of eric and pulling his boxers off his thighs.

he lets eric take it at his own pace, sliding down dylan’s cock and almost sobbing at the relief. it felt so good, eric felt like all of the air had been knocked out of his chest and he couldn’t breathe.

dylan pulled eric down for a deep kiss, open mouthed and messy, and eric began lifting himself up and down. dylan began sucking at spots on his neck, eric’s head tilted back, hands on dylan’s shoulders to steady him.

“you’re doing so good, baby boy,” dylan mumbled, “so good for me.” eric was fucking loud, all kinds of noising falling out of his slack mouth. dylan wasn’t gonna lie, it was porn worthy.

one of eric’s hands came around his torso, wrapping around his dick, trying to reach his peak, wanting so desperately, something, anything.

dylan easily flipped them over, grabbing eric’s wrists and pinning them above his head, before fucking into him.

“i want you to come from just this, doll, can you do that?” eric nodded feverishly, wanting to please dylan. this pleased him, and he began going harder and deeper into eric, making sure he was getting everything he needed.

eric’s hips bucked up off the bed, cock sandwiched between his and dylan’s torso. his breath stopped for just a second, before he came with a loud guttural noise, fists tightly clenching the fabric underneath them in between them.

dylan took one look at the sight of eric, piercings shining and pallid skin covered in come, he lost it.

he came with a last thrust into eric, before pulling out and laying beside him.

“well, damn, baby,” dylan breathed out. “where’ve you been all my life?”