about your stupid face and your beard and your dumb fantastic hands

alecliqhtwooods  asked:

sterek. "(703): How'd the date with the redheaded dentist go? (202): She didn't like my gingervitis joke" :)

“Seriously,” Scott says, and Stiles doesn’t know if it’s a rhetorical question or a statement. It may be both, Scott has this unique ability. “Stiles, seriously.”

“You can stop it with the seriouslies now, Scott, really, I get it,” Stiles replies. He buries his head in his hands, and heaves a deep sigh.

“Dude.” Scott looks at him doubtfully, eyebrows creased into a judgemental mode, like he’s questioning Stiles’ sanity or something. Which wouldn’t actually be the first time. Scott tends to question Stiles’ sanity even on a good day. It’s good, though, Stiles needs that; Stiles needs Scott to put him back on track whenever he strays. “This has been, like, the tenth date you messed up.”

Stiles splutters. “Excuse you,” he scoffs, indignant. “I didn’t mess it up. I didn’t mess up any date. It’s not my fault that—”

“The people you date are not Derek?” Scott finishes. Stiles is kinda angry that they’re skyping and he can’t really clobber Scott over the head with something.

“That’s—that’s—” Oh uh, stammering. “That’s ridiculous is what it is,” he manages after another moment of wordless flailing, points an accusing finger at his webcam.

Scott snorts, clearly unimpressed. “If you mean you not getting your head out of your ass, then yeah, it’s painfully ridiculous, I agree.”

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