Dylan O'Brien Short Stories

Stiles || • cute/smut

You tumble out of the Uber, nearly falling flat on your face before a firm hand juts out of the car to steady you.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N." Stiles chuckles from behind you as he steps out onto the sidewalk. "You're way more fucked up than I thought."

You twirl around to face him, nearly losing your balance for the second time. You furrow your brows and poke a finger into his chest harshly.

"You, sir, are wrong. I'm completely sober." You wobble a bit in your heels, and he just rolls his eyes before slamming the car door shut and waving off your driver.

He takes only one step forward before his knees buckle, almost sending him crumpling to the ground beside you. He puts a hand on your shoulder to steady himself, breaking into a fit of giggles at his own intoxicated state. He's trying to be the responsible one but honestly, he may be more gone than you.

You can't help but laugh along with him as you help each other to your front door. Once there, you try turning the knob before realizing with a huff that you have to unlock it first. You let go of Stiles, who nearly loses his balance again, to rummage through your purse for the keys.

The bag suddenly seems endless as you shove receipts, sticks of gum, lip gloss, and other random shit out of the way to find your keychain. Finally, after what feels like several minutes to your drunk brain, you find them.

"Ah ha!" You call triumphantly and hold them up against your dim porch light.

"Hey. I'll prove I'm more sober." Stiles perks up with an idea, his caramel eyes dancing with amusement. "I bet I can unlock the door without looking."

A laugh bubbles in your chest at the image of him doing that, and you instantly hand him the keys. You don't think he's actually coherent enough to succeed, but you know it'll be entertaining to watch him try.

He waggles his eyebrows at you as he takes the keys and turns so that his back is to the door. He fumbles around blindly, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration. Your breathing slows as your eyes track the movement. You swallow thickly, feeling the familiar attraction you have for your best friend—that you usually keep tightly packed away—rise to the surface.

Admittedly, you're a horny drunk. You can't help but flirt with everyone and anyone you encounter while out partying, including your best friends that you'd never consider sleeping with, not even while intoxicated. But Stiles was a different story.

You'd been attracted to the spaz since you met him freshman year, although it was clear nothing was going to happen due to his obsession with a certain raven haired beauty. That was a couple years ago at this point, and he'd moved on, but the two of you were much too close to act on any lingering feelings now.

You laugh again as he continually fails to unlock the door, and decide to help him out. You lean forward, your chest only an inch away from his, and wrap your fingers around his hand. He stiffens against you, but you don't notice through your drunk haze.

You peer over his shoulder and guide the key to where it needs to be, easily unlocking the door within seconds.

"You lose." You quip, standing up straight to smirk at him before popping the door open and skipping inside.

What you don't see is the way Stiles stands there for several moments collecting himself. You hadn't even done anything, he thought. You'd barely touched him and here he was, clutching his chest in an effort to slow his racing heart. He was so screwed, being alone with you right now, but he was also way too drunk to do anything about it.

He clears his throat and finally walks inside, closing and locking the door behind him. Even while completely plastered, he knows a random supernatural creature could attack at any moment. Not that a wooden door would do much to keep them out, but the action was just muscle memory at this point.