Summary: Derek needs to start carding the people he flirts with.
“Let’s step into my office, Derek,” the Sheriff says.
Derek feels like a kid being sent to the principal’s office. Except this visit might end with Derek buried in the woods.
“I see you’ve met my son, Stiles,” the Sheriff says. Derek almost squirms at his pointed emphasis on the word ‘son’.
“Yes, sir. I have,” Derek says. He feels like every word out of his mouth is just incriminating him further.
“How old do you think my son is?” the Sheriff says.
“A lot younger that I originally thought,” Derek says.
The corner of the Sheriff’s mouth quirks up for a moment. “Caught that, did you?”
“I thought he was the receptionist,” Derek says helplessly. “I assumed he was around twenty.”
“And if you had known he was sixteen?” the Sheriff says.
Sixteen? Jesus fuck.
“Never would have even thought about it,” Derek says.
The Sheriff must believe him, because he nods and continues on to outline Derek’s duties without another word on the subject.
Derek’s never been so relieved to fill out paperwork in his entire life.
the worst thing about being shy and introverted is that you most of the time come off as cold and arrogant like you think you’re better than everyone else and thats why you don’t talk to people or hang out with them but it’s really the opposite its like you’re so uncomfortable with yourself that you don’t wanna share it with anyone else so you just dont and people think you’re an asshole but you’re actually just really scared
i apologise in advance. this is also unbeta’d and full of mistakes.
the perfect angle
Stiles gnaws on a straw and taps the fingers of his free hand against the counter. Sunday mornings are always boring and eventless. People don’t go to the gym on Sundays. Sundays are sacred days, no work, lazing around, definitely no working out in the gym. If it wasn’t for the damn good money he wouldn’t be standing behind the counter right now, killing time by destroying one straw after another—because the gym he works at is like, supreme, and they have a bar. A health bar, of course. With drinks and smoothies. Stiles always bites his bottom lip hard to keep from laughing when the beefed up guys come to get a strawberry-vanilla-smoothie. It’s golden, really.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Stiles smirks when he hears Laura’s familiar voice. It’s when Derek saunters into Stiles’ view, towel slung over his shoulder and a water bottle in his left hand. He looks like he just stepped out of one of those glossy magazines, all bright eyes and purposeful bed head, with a white tank top that hides absolutely nothing, and Stiles takes a few seconds to take in Derek’s strong arms. Plus, the stubble he so carefully maintains does things to Stiles. What would stubble feel like on his tongue when he licked it? Stiles has never licked stubble before, it never even occurred to him, but right now it’s the only thing he can think about.
“I bask in the sweet taste of your misery,” Derek answers, completely unconcerned, and Laura throws her towel at his head. Derek sniggers.
take my hand
take my whole life too
I hate it when you’ve been really on edge for a while and then you have a breakdown over a little thing and everyone thinks that you’re getting super upset about not washing your hair