Dylan O'Brien (ıṃѧɢıṅєṡ & ƿяєғєяєṅċєṡ)

His mother doesn't like you

"Are you sure you want me to spend this Christmas with your family? I feel like it's too soon," you said a little afraid. He didn't seem like he noticed when he pecked your lips quickly and then went back to packing.

"Oh, you'll be fine." He stated confidently. "If I like you, of coarse my family is going to like you!" It seemed to you like he was leaving something out, but you ignored it, not wanting to annoy him with your questions.

"Okay, but if anyone calls me the devil, I'm outta there!" You said sarcastically, but rethought your sentence, wondering why you thought it made sense to say.

Dylan chuckled lightly as he packed his suitcase full. "It won't happen, but okay."

Yeah, 'it won't happen' he assured you, but five seconds after you walked through his parents door you heard his mother say to his father: "She looks like the devil." Which, mind your bright red hair, was not true.

You were a hairstylist, or learning to be one, so having died hair wasn't a weird thing for you. "Hello, I'm Lisa." His mother said in a friendly tone, making you narrow your eyes to her.

"(Y/n)."

She backed away and looked at her son, you knew she was trying to telepathically ask why the heck he brought someone like you to spend Christmas with his family. "Well, I can show you your room (y/n)." She said as she began walking down the hall, towards the stairs.

"Mom she's sleeping in my room, with me." He said and his mom stopped in her tracks.

"What?" She asked in disbelief. "Honey I don't want to be waken up—"

"It's fine, Mrs O'Brien, I'll sleep in the guest room." You intervened and sent Dylan a smirk as he rolled his eyes. You followed his mother down the hall and waited for her to leave before throwing your suitcase on the bed carelessly. You heard someone walking down the hall and watched as Dylan walked into the room. "Your mom hates me, and I've only said like a sentence to her." You pointed out and he sucked in a breath.

"She doesn't like people with red hair," he explained and you let out a sigh.

"Why didn't you tell me before we left?" You asked and he walked towards you.

"Because I don't care if your hair makes her think of the devil, I think it's beautiful."

You smirked. "Aw. If only what you thought could influence what she thought." He pecked your temple and stepped away from you, looking down the hall.

He looked back to you. "It'll get better, and during the night just sneak into my room, I have a king size." He said and you laughed, standing up and walking towards him. He wrapped an arm around you stomach as the two of you walked down the hall and into the living room.

"What's on, pops?" He asked removing his hand from you waist and plopping down next to his father on the couch. You smiled as you watched the two communicate with each other. His father seemed more like his best friend than his dad.

You wished you had the same relationship with your father.

"Nothing good, Hallmark is the only channel you'll mother let me watch," he said and you smiled as you sat down next to Dylan.

"I don't like their movies, they're cheesy and too unbelievable. I mean, half the stuff that happens in those movies are crap." You said and his father looked over at you.

"You got that right."

"What did she get right?" Dylan's mother asked suddenly, making herself known in the room. Uh-oh, a little voice said inside your head.