Dylan O'Brien Imagines

The Only Exception

a/n: super sorry for this, its really crap! I don't know if I'll have anything decent for the next few weeks, I want to update but I don't have time and I'm lacking inspiration which sucks, but I promise ill get my mojo back! In other news, ITS MY BIRTHDAY TOMORROW for us gals in Perth :)))) love you guys, thanks for sticking with me xxxx (this was inspired by the only exception by Paramore!)

Your parents had a really bad relationship and scared you from wanting to fall in love. You were so careful, never allowing yourself to fall to deep or even fall at all. You constantly protected your heart. Your mother reminded you that she would never want her heart to hurt like that again and your dad's relationship with alcohol was enough to warn you.

Just because you were being careful, didn't mean you didn't date. You dated a bit only because you moved on quickly, but something had you second guessing yourself recently.

Where were you now? Lying in your bed, the navy sheets wrapped tightly around your body, almost as tight as his arms. With his arm resting never your body and his legs tangled over yours, you couldn't help the nervous sweats.

"Morning, beautiful," he smiled against your skin, placing a soft kiss to the reveal skin on your shoulder. His husky, morning voice was like music to your ears.

"Good morning," you couldn't help your sly smile as his hands began slowly roaming your body. You continued to rest for a few minutes, revelling in his touch.

"I'm going to make some breakfast," he squeezed your sides before leaving you in the bed. You watched his boxer clad body left off past your bedroom.

You waited a few moments in the comfort of your bed before following after him. You didn't think much of it when you grabbed his shirt from the floor and joined him in the kitchen.

The sight before you confused you. You were pulled between the beauty and the reality.

"Pancakes coming right up," he looked up form the stove, a glint in his brown eyes.

His skill in your kitchen began to worry you. He moved around, skilfully finding the utensils and ingredients within the cupboards of your kitchen. You watched closely as he opened the cupboards and chose exactly what he needed.

"Alright, babe, here we go." He served you a plate of pancakes with a whipped cream heart over the top and his perfect smile.

You just stared at the heart. A heart? A symbol of love, the show of passion. How could you comprehend what was happening?

"C'mon babe, better eat up before they get cold." He nudged you slightly on the arm, hitting you again with that warm smile. "Babe?"

"What- uh... why?" You stumbled.

"What's up?" His beautiful, veiny hand covered yours as you stared blankly at the pancakes.

"Dylan, I..." you could barely look over to him. "This is all moving to fast for me," you whisper.

"(Y/N), what are you saying?" He doesn't seem to believe you. "We've been dating for eight months, of course I know your kitchen." He jokes, smiling again.

"Eight months?" He nods, taking a bite of his pancakes.

"Yeah babe, nine next week," he places a delicate kiss to your forehead.

"Dylan," you mumble. "Things are moving too fast."

"Okay," he begins to joke again, "if you don't want me to cook your breakfast," he draws off.

"Dylan, please be serious for one second." You knew exactly what you were doing. You were picking a fight for no reason. You always did this. The easiest way for you to get out of the relationship was always to pick a fight.

"I am," he covers his mouth, hiding his small laugh. "Let's talk it out whats wrong."

"Dylan, you just don't understand." You brush him off.

"Because you're not giving me a chance," he's acting defensive. You don't answer and only shake your head. You leave the plate of pancakes as you turn your back on him.

"No, you're not leaving." He follows behind you.

"You're right because this is my apartment." You're scared, so you don't turn back out of fear you'll admit what scares you most.

"Stop, c'mon lets talk it out." He reaches for your arm and you don't fight it.

"Dylan, I have nothing to say."

"You won't even look at me," he argues. You turn to him with tears brimming in your eyes.

"Is this what you wanted?" You stare up at him and he slowly reaches his palm to your face.

"You're pushing me away," he speaks lightly, the warmth of his palm still resting on your cheek. "I understand, (Y/N), but you know what?" He asks. You shake your head. He briefly pauses, taking one deep breath. "I love you."

The air is whipped from your lungs as confesses his love. You stare into his eyes as if they say more than his words have. The silence isn't awkward, in fact you need it. You need it to process, to accept.

You don't want to give it another thought and you fall into his arms and kiss him.

You can't help but think how much he means to you, how much he was able to change your perspective on love. You think you love and you're too afraid to admit, but baby steps. Its that bloody, cheesy smile that confirms he is the only exception.