More Than This [dylan o'brien oneshot]

Dylan O'brien X Reader One Shot

Y/N and Dylan are sprawled out on the plush carpet of Dylan's bedroom, an old vinyl playing on the record player as they gaze up at the ceiling and share a bag of cheese and onion chips.

It would be okay. It would be totally fine, totally cool.

If Dylan wasn't totally falling for Y/N.

Because hearing Y/N babble on about how hot she finds Liam, some kid in her english class with "the best set of blue eyes literally ever" and "the kindest smile" is pure torture. He should be the boy Y/N is nervous to talk to, he thinks. He should be the boy Y/N's stomach gets all fluttery for when they touch. He should be the boy Y/N thinks has the prettiest blue eyes. But he isn't.

"What do you think?"

Y/N's soft voice breaks him out of the barricade of angry, self-pitiful thoughts in his head.

"What? Sorry, kinda spaced out..."

"Oh, well I was just saying that I have no idea how to kiss and that I should probably practice."

"W-What? For what?"

"Y'know. For when I kiss Liam."

Right. Y/N's never been kissed before. Dylan doesn't know how, though, her lips are so round and plump and red, so kissable. His teenage, testosterone-raging brain automatically wanders to how Y/N's lips would look wrapped around his co-

Nope. Dylan will not have thoughts like that about his best friend while he's in the same room.

"How would you even practice?" Dylan asks her with a scoff, trying to distract his own brain from the endless sexual scenarios surrounding Y/N it could concoct.

"I dunno. I could kiss my reflection."

"Your reflection? Y/n- no, just no. I'm not going to let you snog my mirror. Besides, it wouldn't even be an effective practice object."

"What, then? A cupcake? A popsicle?"

DylN sighs, turning his head to face Y/N. "I'm sure you'll be a fine kisser without practicing. I didn't practice for mine and it went fine."

Y/N looks at him. "Oh my god."

Dylan's brows furrow slightly. "What?"

"You've never told me about your first kiss!"

Dylan shifts. "Y/N, no, that's impossible. I'm sure I've told you."

"No, you didn't!"

"That's- no. I've told you about it."

"You seriously haven't, it never came up."

Dylan rubs his eyes, groaning. "You- I- fine. Jesus christ. It was in 8th grade."

There's a pause before Dylan speaks again, and Y/N thinks it's because he's waiting for Dylan to delve into details.

"That's it? Come on, Dylan, tell me more!" Y/N props her head up on her elbow, staring intensely into his eyes.

Dylan squirms a bit, scratching at his thigh over his sweatpants. "It was a girl. We snogged against a tree. Frotted for a bit. That's it."

"Frotted? What? What's that?"

"You're... You're kidding, right?"

Y/N's sixteen. There's no way she doesn't know what frotting is. There can't be. She's surely got horny before, curiously typing "pornhub" into a private browser and- yeah, Y/N's messing with him, that's it. Y/N knows what frotting is, she's just lying. Yes. Lying.