Dylan O'Brien Imagines

Dance Club// Stiles

You needed to get away. Have a party, go to a party, get shitfaced drunk, you don't know, but you needed to get things off your mind.

"Are you sure you wanna go with me?" Stiles' small voice asked through the phone.

"Stiles, of course I want to go with you," you smiled. "Plus, I wanna see what you're like drunk."

"Well, there's only two of us and one of us has to be the designated driver." Stiles said.

"Fine, Mr. Responsibility. You gotta let loose eventually."

You hung up and picked out something to wear. You chose a blouse and a skirt. You weren't the kind of heel person so you slipped on your black vans. (No regrets)

You put your hair in a somewhat fancy ponytail and grabbed your bag.

You were so excited about spending the night with your best friend.

You met Stiles outside your house, slipping in his blue jeep.

You two snuck into the back door of a club before heading straight to the bar.

Stiles paid for all the drinks, which you were more than grateful for.

"Dance with me." You smiled, grabbing Stiles' hands.

"Are you sure you wanna dance with me?" He asks.

"Why do you do that?" I ask, staring into his brown eyes.

"Do what?"

"Ask me am I sure that I want to do something with you," you smiled. "Of course I do, Stiles."

"I'm just a loser and you're like real popular and I don't know why you would want to-"

You slipped a hand behind his neck, pulling his lips onto yours.

"I like you, Stiles."

"Works for me, now how about that dance?" He takes your hands and pulls you onto the dance floor.