hi!! i love your fics, and they always make me so happy and im feeling a little down right now and i was wondering if you would maybe write something sterek-ey for this prompt "You've been typing furiously on your laptop in the library, and have just gone to get a book, so I had a quick look and you're writing hardcore gay porn and it's GOOD."
Here you go, sweetheart. I am so sorry it’s a day late and I hope you are feeling better. My door is always open to you if you need to talk. Also a big thank you to @crossroadswrite for being the most helpful of betas ever to beta.
Stiles thumps his head on the desk for the fifth time in twenty minutes.
Go to the library, Scott had said.
You’ll get so much done, he said. The liar.
Allison and Kira are coming over and- and Stiles is officially moving Scott from his top bros list. Being sexiled is one thing, but to be exiled? For platonic reasons? From his own apartment? Where there is popcorn and a Dexter marathon waiting for him? Nope. Scott is officially out. Not that Stiles actually has anyone else on his bro list, but he could. One day. Starting now. Maybe.
Sighing a little more dramatically than is probably necessary – if the dirty looks he gets in return are anything to go by – he looks around for something to entertain him.
Vaguely, he is aware his anthropology notes are still sitting there, vying for his attention in that kind of pick me, pick me! way in what he imagines Hermione Granger would look like if she were a notebook and not a person. Well, fictional character, unless you make an argument for Emma Watson, but that’s beside the point.
No, the point is he wants fun, a life, to go crazy, and as much as he loves – he squints back at his notes – post-structuralism, it’s just not going to cut it tonight.
Scanning the room, he looks at the different types of people.
It would be nice to make a new friend, he thinks – or so his dad tells him – and what better way to make a friend than at the library? That’s a type of friend, right? The “library friend”. They’re easy enough to make. That person you always meet up with to go for coffee, crashing at their place, helping each other study, making flash cards.
Stiles could see himself in that kind of friendship. He’d ace the flash cards. Flash cards are his thing, his buddy, his pal. Maybe he should put flash cards on his bro list.
“And maybe you should stop drinking so much caffeine,” someone angrily comments behind him.
Spinning in his chair, Stiles opens his mouth, ready to argue - because hello, rude – but promptly shuts it again because hello, wet dream.
Wet Dream is currently scowling at him, making his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose. It’s adorable and Stiles doesn’t know whether to ask for this guy’s hand in marriage right here and now or buy him coffee first.
“Do you generally like to annoy people by talking out loud, or is this just my lucky night?”
Not that Stiles expects a positive answer to either of those questions, but a guy can dream. If Lydia Martin taught him one thing in high school, it’s that a guy can certainly, most definitely, dream.
“Are you generally this sexy, or is this just my lucky night?”