prompt: opposite action: the psychological term for acting in a completely different way than how you are feeling, in fear or discomfort of your feelings

     Y/N POV

 Dylan O'Brien.

Co-star, roommate, best friend's friend-

And complete idiot.

He apparently didn't think it was enough for our characters to be in love, but he just had to release to the public a small, running joke between the cast.

  That since we're on-set lovers, who says we won't really fall for each other?

I call absolute bull. Just because I act with him, doesn't mean I'll fall in love with him. Sure, he's unmistakably attractive, but I would be falling in love with his lines, not him. We read characters who are in love.

  Let's not even talk about how all it-started-with-a-movie relationships go.

It started in season one. Stiles kissed my character and had to play a surprised face. Everyone thought it was adorable, and instantly it was like me and Dylan were the only two people could talk about. You two would be so cute, or, you two are soul mates!

   As. If.

 And now, to avoid daily death threats or rumors, I play the hate card in public. Rolling my eyes at interviews, distancing myself at premiers, excluding myself in group photos- the whole nine yards.

  But now, I could hardly tell the difference between being annoyed at him all the time, or playing the hate card.

 Currently, me, Dylan and Tyler lounged in the living room (since we all housed together), watching some show. Well, they were. I'd been doodling randomly for about half an hour now.

  "No, you've got it all wrong. Just cause Barry liked Iris, doesn't mean he can't like Caitlin!"

"What? You're insane, Caitlin and Ronnie are still totally together."

   "I'm pretty sure being on fire puts a damper on the relationship."

"Fine, ask Y/N."

  I groaned and looked up, seeing the two looking at me. "What?"

"Barry and Iris," Dylan spoke, rolling his eyes. "Or- the amazing Snowbarry?"

   "Dude-"

"Guys, really?" I raised an eyebrow. They both shrugged, like it was a valid question. I sighed.

  "Snowbarry."

Dylan cheered, laughing at Tyler. "In your face!"

"Not fair, Y/N is totally biased to you!" He complained. I quirked an eyebrow at him.

  "Excuse me?"

 "Oh, come one-" Tyler laughed, shoveling pop corn into his mouth. "You guys are too in love to realize it."

  My mouth dropped, but Dylan only smirked.

"Hilarious." I rolled my eyes.

   "Oh come on," Dylan winked. "You're totally in love with me."

I scoffed, turning back to my notebook. "I actually really hate you."

  A pause, before Dylan huffed. "As if."

"Don't believe me?" I narrowed my eyes at him. He rolled his eyes, making mine widen in disbelief. Tyler groaned, standing up.

  "You know what? Let's see. You two are going to stay here alone until I get back at midnight. I'm going to hang at Holland's with her and Max. You two- settle this. One way or another."

   And after grabbing his phone and slipping on Van's, Tyler was gone.

 Dylan sighed again and stood up, heading down the hall to his room. I rolled my eyes, once again, turning back to my doodles. I hadn't been putting much mind to it, but it should be just a bunch of flowers.

  Nope.

 DYLAN + Y/N was scribbled in cursive in the corner, hearts fluttering around it. Sketches of his eyes, a small mole above his left eyebrow. My eyes widened, before I haphazardly ripped the paper, crumbling it in fear.

  I stood up and threw it away, shaking my head- as if to shake away the thoughts. No, no. I hated him. I didn't love him. How could I?

  I took a deep breath, deciding to head to my own room. Somewhere I could settle this alone, without having the danger of him walking back into the living room to find me scribbling his name again.

  I passed Dylan's room, not without catching some speech. I peeked through the crack of the door, seeing him pace with his phone to his ear. I winced, knowing I should keep walking and keep to myself but the curiosity was too much.

  "No, Juls, it's not working. She hates me."

  "As if, she'd punch me before I'd finish that question."

  "No- like straight to the nose."

  "I can't do that! That only happens in movies, as I would know."

  "Stiles would be a sweating mess, just like me."

  "I don't think she'd fall for that. . . would she?"

  "I don't care if it's built, my chest is still very much pale!"

  "Juls, no, I'm serious. She's- this means alot. . ."

  "Okay- okay. Fine. I'll think about it."

I quietly sprinted to my room, letting out the breath I had been holding that entire time. What was he talking about with his sister? Why would I punch him (besides the very obvious reasons)? And why was he talking about his bare chest?

  I put away my notebook, before throwing myself onto my bed. It creaked, before letting me settle into the comforter. Alone, with my thoughts. And Dylan's phone call.

  My door creaked open, revealing- a shirtless- Dylan. My breath caught in my throat and I realized, pale or not, he did not have a problem in the muscle department.

  "Hey," He cleared his throat, opening my door enough to reveal both bare shoulders. "I was just- just gonna head to the gym for about an hour. Just- so you know."

  "I- I thought Tyler said to stay here?" I raised an eyebrow. Dylan froze.

"I mean, I didn't think you'd want to be with 5 miles of me. . ." He trailed off, shrugging, only making his muscles show more as his biceps flexed.

   "Unless- you're totally giving up this challenge and you can't stay alone with me until midnight." I smirked, challenging him. "Unless you're a chicken."

   Something else about Dylan O'Brien. Back To The Future movies are kind of a Friday night thing. An every Friday night thing.

   "Nobody calls me chicken." He grumbled, crossing his arms.

"Then get your ass in here and prove it." I scoffed.

   His body disappeared from the door, until I heard shuffling and slamming. It was about two minutes before he returned with chips, drinks, and small bags of gummies from the kitchen. I rolled my eyes, watching as he lied it all on the bed.

   "You're on."

► ABOUT TWO HOURS LATER

   "Come on, one embarrassing moment from school!" Dylan laughed, shoving my shoulder. I groaned, sighing.

   He still had his shirt off.

"Fine, fine." I gave in. "So, setting the scene. 8th grade, me, another boy in my class named Alex Honder. Total 8th grade boyfriend material."

   "Interesting." Dylan chuckled.

"The dance was coming up, and it was one of those girl-ask-guy ones. Dumb, yeah. Anyways, I asked him and he said, word for word, why would I ever go with you?"

  Dylan's mouth dropped, his eyebrows rising. "What a dickhead!"

I laughed, nodding along in agreement.

   "Do you know where he is now?" Dylan asked. I chuckled, nodding.

"He got Stacey Bryan pregnant sophomore year, so- he's probably paying child support somewhere. . ."

  Dylan giggled. "Oh shit."

"Yeah." I nodded, smiling. "Anyways, my turn. Um- how about. . . First kiss?"

  Dylan groaned. "God, please no."

"Yes!" I demanded in laughter, throwing a potato chip at his face. "I answered your embarrassing question, you answer mine!"

  Dylan sighed, biting his lip. "Fine- just. . . promise you won't laugh."

"I-. . ." I winced. "I promise. I guess."

  "Thank you." Dylan smiled, before taking a deep breath. "Ah- um, setting the scene. Me, walking into this building that says Set B. It's the big day of scripting, the- the big surprise scene. For- ah, Teen Wolf, actually. Season one. And- you."

   I couldn't have laughed even if I tried.

"M-Me?" I raised an eyebrow. Dylan sighed, nodding.

   "Yeah. . ." He winced. "Is that pathetic?"

I froze, shaking my head. "No, no-I just thought, for sure, Dylan O'Brien left some kisses in small town California."

  He laughed. "Nope. Nothing."

I hummed, nodding. "Okay, okay."

   "Okay, my turn." He grinned. "Speaking of Teen Wolf kisses, is Stiles a good kisser?"

 I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Unbelievable."

  "What! It's a valid question people would be dying to know."

"Apparently not, Mr.First Kiss." I chuckled. Dylan rolled his eyes.

   "Honestly, though."

 I sighed, shrugging. "It wasn't bad."

"Oh, god-" Dylan groaned, laying on his back. "That's almost as bad as no."

  "What?" I chuckled. "Why?"

"Because, it means I did something wrong!" He laughed, leaning on his side, his elbow propping him up.

   "Not necessarily- you just, lack." I easily put. I think.

"Lack? Lack what?" He questioned.

"I mean- I just think that when people are in love, they adventure a little farther than just moving the lips." I shrugged.

  "What- like. . . tongue?" Dylan raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah." I nodded.

   "Yeah, cause that's easily learn-able." He scoffed. I rolled my eyes.

 "It's not that hard. Just- natural, kind of."

  "Very vague and not helpful."

 "Well, what am I supposed to do-" I laughed. "Sit here and practice with you?"

 Dylan froze. Oh, no, no, no, no.

 "No-"

   "Oh, come on." He laughed. "In the end, it's better for you every time we film and you won't have to deal with Mr. First Kiss anymore."

  I narrowed my eyes at him, but never saw him budge. And apparently, sugar works just as effectively as alcohol. If you have enough. Or, can mentally trick yourself into thinking it is, and that you're not really just living out a personal fantasy.

 "Fine. Sit up, you idiot." I huffed, scooting  closer.

"Do you always call people you're about to kiss idiots?"

  "I save that special for you, O'Brien." I smiled sweetly. He rolled his eyes, but sat up, sitting closer in front of me.

I took a deep breath, looking directly into his eyes. "Now, just like we're normally filming, kiss me."

  Dylan nodded and placed a hand on my cheek, leaning into the side, pressing his lips against mine. A familiar tingle rang up my spine, cursing at me. We moved our lips, before parting softly and slowly.

  "Now-" I swallowed, taking a deep breath. Was I getting nervous now? "Now, follow my lead. After I do something, you do the. . . same."

  Dylan nodded and I leaned in again, pressing our lips together. I relaxed and we began moving our lips together. I slowly let my tongue run a small line against his bottom lip, causing a quiet gasp to escape him. But, without falter, we continued kissing and he did the same. I held in a moan from how actually good he was at this.

  Now, I drew the line again, before letting my tongue meet his own. In the midst of our moving lips, our tongues swirled and met occasionally, parting when our lips readjusted. Dylan let out soft breaths, until I felt both of his hands hold my jaw close, his fingers diving into my hair. I sighed at the euphoric feeling, finding my own hands woven around his neck, gripping at the small hairs at the nape of his neck.

  I couldn't believe it had gone in this direction. Minutes ago, I was asking him how many bones he'd broken as a kid, and here I was, "teaching" him how to make out. By the feeling of it, he was doing just fine.

  I gasped at the tingles that sparked when Dylan's hands dropped to my hips, his finger meeting with the skin exposed by my shirt that was riding up. He moved it slightly, letting his entire hands hold my hips as we continued.

"Do you-" I caught my breath. "Do you think you've got it?"

"No." He shook his head slightly, barely breaking our lips apart. 

   My heart dropped when my entire body moved, Dylan's grip on my hips harsh as he pulled me to straddle him. He sat up, quickly moving his back against my headboard, before returning his hands to my hips. The kisses and heated make-outs never stopped, only getting heavier.

  Our breaths were louder and heavier, not daring to take the time to break the connection. I uncurled my arms and let my hands drop to his chest, my palms below his collarbones. I felt the pulsing heart rate under my touch, his hot skin only drawing me in more.

  I felt my shirt continue to rise, but the idea of departing his quick, soft lips to take it off disgusted me. I nodded to him.

  "Rip it." I whispered. Dylan gripped the shirt and I waited to hear buttons fly to the floor, but it never happened. He stopped, slowing down his kisses. I frowned, pecking his lips once more as I looked to him. 

   "No." He whispered.

"What- I thought, I thought you'd want to-" I spoke, flustered.

  "I want to keep seeing you in this shirt, so that every time I see you wear it, I can remember this. The time you actually kissed me on your own terms." He whispered, his forehead pressed against mine, radiating the same warmth I felt.

 "Wh- Was this going to be a one time thing?" I breathed out, looking to him confused. He sighed.

  "Y/N, come on, you hate me. You're just- it was the moment." He barely spoke. My lips parted as almost no words came out.

   "I- I don't hate you."

 Dylan looked to me now, confused. "Sorry, but am I going crazy? Because, literally, you always-"

"I know, I know-" I hushed. "I just- I wanted to hate you."

   "Okay, still confusing."

 "I just-" I sighed. "When I started liking you, I was worried it was the acting. That- that it was getting to my head and I was falling in love with Stiles' lines. But, you kept proving me more and more wrong, and then I got worried about if we actually started, dating or something, and people would just keep yelling shit like how we won't last because we met on set, or-or-"

  "Hey- hey." Dylan interrupted. I stopped and looked to his eyes. "Who's in here, right now?"

"Wh-"

  "Just answer."

 "You and I." I sighed. Dylan nodded.

  "Exactly. That's who matters in this. Not the show, not directors, no dumb talk show host- me and you. That's it. Whether we do this or not is up to no one else, and neither should quitting it be." Dylan held my face in his head, keeping me looking to him. I bit my lip, nodding. He was right, of course he was. Everything I just said seemed silly at this point.

 "Well-" I sighed. "I want to. I want to do this."

 Dylan nodded, before thinking. "I don't know. I mean, I'll think about it. . ."

Dylan cracked his own joke, laughing at my reaction. I rolled my eyes, until I felt his lips on mine again. I grinned, instantly pulling him closer. My tongue met his and we both moaned, which caused us to both break into laughter.

  "Looks like we owe Posey a call." Dylan chuckled, pecking my lips. I shrugged.

 "Or. . ." I trailed off, pulling my own shirt over my head, revealing the deep blue-lace bra. Dylan's eyes dropped instantly, before looking to me.

  "Y- yeah, we. . . we have plenty of time."

[a/n]

this originally was a short "dylan when. . ." lmao. whoops. 2559 words. . .

love you (: