Do you think Derek Hale does his own taxes? Or does he have an accountant? It must be complicated, since he’s very rich from life insurance and fire insurance and everything. That would be tricky to manage on his own with TurboTax. Does he save documents all year long so he can do his taxes? Does he let Mr. Adams at the accounting firm take care of it? Does Mr. Adams want him to look at statements before signing on the return? Does Mr. Adams ask if he can fax things over and Derek says “I don’t have a fax machine” and so Mr. Adams sighs and says he’ll talk to his assistant and work something out?
Does Derek also have a financial advisor who manages his portfolio? Does he get emails asking him if he wants to diversify? Has he invested in startups? Did Derek invest in Twitter on a whim and accidentally increase his wealth by an insane amount? Did he once sheepishly call Mr. Adams and ask about setting up a charitable trust because Derek accidentally tripled his savings?
I JUST TOLD CRIMSONCLAD THAT THE ONLY THING I CARE MORE ABOUT THAN NIPPLES IS DEREK HALE DOING MENIAL AS HELL TASKS.
DOES MR ADAMS MAKE DEREK HALE GET A PO BOX BECAUSE MAIL PEOPLE ARE SMARTER THAN ADOLESCENT BOYS AND REFUSE TO GO ANYWHERE NEAR THE LOFT’S MAILBOX? (IT’S A CARDBOARD BOX ON WHICH DEREK HALE SCRAWLED “MAIL PLZ” IN CRAYON.) DEREK KIND OF LIKES PICKING UP HIS MAIL FROM HIS POST OFFICE BOX CUZ HE LIKES GETTING MAIL EVEN THOUGH ITS MOSTLY FOR CREDIT CARDS AND CATALOGS. HE FLIPS THROUGH THE LANDS END CATALOG ANYWAY. WHO KNOWS? MAYBE HE WANTS SOMETHING. YOU DON’T KNOW HIS LIFE.
omg omg Derek getting mail! DEREK GETTING MAIL.
-letters from his middle school pen pal, Larry. Larry lives in Iowa. Derek still writes to him faithfully.
-fundraising appeals from the basketball camp he went to for two summers. “Our campers love learning about the DRIVE TO WIN and GOOD SPORTSMANSHIP!”
-subscription to Highlights. He hasn’t paid for it in decades, he keeps trying to tell them to stop sending it, but it just keeps coming. “Get it TOGETHER, Goofus,” he sighs.
-His old babysitter Mrs. Elmore sends him a check for five dollars on his birthday every year.
OK, but I want to know exactly what it is Derek tells his middle school pen pal Larry about his life. Like I’m guessing he doesn’t lie, just leaves out…almost everything?
"I was dating this really nice teacher for a little while but it didn’t work out."
"It’s hard making friends."
"Fitness is really important to me."
"Sometimes I wonder if I’ve made the right choices. Do you ever feel that way, Larry?"
"I thought this was what you wanted!" Derek yelled.
"What the fuck, dude, this is my place of work!" Stiles said, gesturing expansively at the department parking garage, his uniform shirt, gun belt. "Have you been in the car all night? Did you steal my keys?"
"No!" Derek said. "Sort of—"
"Just, what the hell, my dad works here," Stiles said. "Gross."
"But you said—" Derek blurted out, and then closed his mouth tightly.
"What," Stiles said.
"Nothing," Derek said. "Unlock the cuffs."
"For God’s sake," Stiles said, but he fished his keyring out of his pocket and leaned in, unlocked the cuffs in a practiced motion. "What did I say?"
Derek glared at him, hands dangling uselessly between his knees, pins and needles. He had been there almost all night; the parking garage was cold and he’d begun to regret it after he closed the cuffs, but he’d stayed anyhow, not only because if Stiles totaled another pair of cuffs he was on the hook for eighty-five bucks.
"Fine," Stiles said. He was pissed now, the almost sweet, bakery smell of surprise fading into acrid tin-can annoyance. "I have to work. I’ll see you—"
"You laughed," Derek said. Stiles blinked. "You—you said ‘same old, same old’"
"When?" Stiles said.
"After we fucked, when you you think?" Derek said, scooping his shirt up off the floor and yanking it back on.
"That’s not what—I didn’t mean it that way," Stiles said, forehead creased.
"Sorry, is there another way to mean it when you’re telling someone what a boring, shitty lay they are?" Derek said.
"Hey," Stiles said sharply. "Hey, that’s—you’re not! How could you think that? Why do you ever take anything I say ten seconds after I blow my load seriously?"
"Okay," Derek said, and opened the door.
"Please don’t break up with me," Stiles yelled at him, the words echoing down the stairwell, bouncing off the concrete. Time was, Derek would have pushed through the door and kept walking, run fast enough that Stiles couldn’t catch up with him, but that was a long time ago, years and years now. He was already caught.
"Do you want to break up?" Derek said. Stiles had said he loved him for the first time while he was coming, gasping it into the cup of Derek’s shoulder. Stiles had said they should move in together while Derek was still between his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, watching the racing pulse in the hollow of Stiles’ throat.
"No," Stiles said vehemently, coming off the bottom step. "I see how—" he said. "It was a nice gesture," he said. "No one’s ever handcuffed themselves in the back of a police cruiser for me and it was—actually pretty romantic now that I think of it. thoughtful."
"Shut up," Derek said.
"Remember when Jake retired as line cook and I had to switch to straight fries because I didn’t want the new guy’s curly fries?" Stiles said.
"Yes," Derek said flatly. Stiles hadn’t shut up about it for weeks.
"I must have eaten like a thousand orders of those," Stiles said. "Like a million curly fries or whatever—we’ve been going out there my whole life—"
"It’s the only fucking burger joint in Beacon Hills that hasn’t been shut down for health code violations," Derek said.
"My point is, I didn’t want to eat the fries the new guy made, I just wanted the old fries. I liked the fries the way they were, because they were just right, I could eat ten thousand orders and never get tired of them."
"I don’t get it," Derek said, hunching his shoulders. "Are you hungry, or—"
Stiles stepped in a little closer, his eyes serious and dark. “I like that we do the same stuff,” he said. “I don’t want anything different.”
"I was just trying to do something nice for you," Derek said softly.
"Derek," Stiles said, his voice cracking. Derek knit his lips together and Stiles sighed, and then his eyes narrowed, "—oh, you’re fucking with me."
"Yeah," Derek admitted, and let Stiles in against him, kissed his laughing mouth, his soft lower lip.
"Do you, um—did you want me to fuck you in the back of the cruiser?" Stiles said, after. "Are you, you know. bored?"
"Your car smells like feet," Derek said.
"So, that’s a yes?" Stiles said.
TIME TRAVELLING DEREK AU (PART 1) - Basically: Mini Derek gets magicked into present day Beacon Hills. One billion embarrassing teen!Him memories race through Derek’s mind while Mini D is in despair, completely mortified to find that he grows up to be so uncool. Derek begrudgingly agrees to house his younger self until they find a way to send him back in time. Stiles can’t wait for Mini D to find out about Derek’s living situation.
I BRAKE FOR (K)NOTTING HILL AUS.
WHICH ONE IS THE INTERNATIONAL SUPERSTAR? WHICH ONE IS THE HUMBLE, STAMMERING OWNER OF A SMALL SHOP?
GIRL, YOU KNOW IT IS DEREK HALE THE INTERNATIONAL MOVIE STAR WHO APPEARS TO HAVE EVERYTHING BUT IN REALITY HAS BEEN ON A DIET SINCE HE WAS NINETEEN, WHICH MEANS HE’S BEEN HUNGRY FOR A DECADE. HE’S HAD A SERIES OF NOT-NICE BOYFRIENDS AND GIRLFRIENDS, ONE OF WHOM HIT HIM. AND EVERY TIME HE GETS HIS HEART BROKEN, THE NEWSPAPERS SPLASH IT AROUND AS THOUGH IT’S ENTERTAINMENT. ALSO, IT’S TAKEN TWO PAINFUL OPERATIONS TO MAKE HIM LOOK LIKE THIS.
- gets orange juices and runs into people, ruining their shirts, says, sorry, sorry, sorry, he’s an idiot, actually he lives right around here, if Derek wants to, uh—
- gazes at giant posters of Derek’s face plastered on city buses, mouth open
- watches Derek’s movies wearing swim goggles, having lost his glasses
- mistaken for reporter, awkwardly runs into things
- has lovely friends
WHEN ASKED HOW LONG DEREK PLANS TO STAY IN NORTHERN CALIFORNIA, DEREK LEANS IN TOWARDS THE MICROPHONE, HALF-SMILES, AND SAYS “INDEFINITELY.”
SORRY, I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT OBVIOUSLY yucky pathetic jerks in a restaurant talk about all the things they’d do to Derek Hale in bed, and how they bet he’s—and Derek stares down at the table, jaw tightening minutely, and tells Stiles it’s fine, it doesn’t matter, but Stiles stands up and goes back there and tells them to shut up.
Also don’t you think Stiles would go down to a movie set to see Derek and overhear him saying to some co-star, “oh, he’s no one, just some guy.”
For homework, let’s just all think about Stiles’ pale, stricken face as he fumbles off the headphones, stammering excuses, trying to get out of there before Derek sees him.
WORKING ON THE HOMEWORK NOW, THANKS.
But ALSO working on Derek, the morning after taking shelter, getting ready to leave with his leather jacket on, Stiles asking “Do you say no to everything?” and Derek half smiling, saying “no,” and then he leaves, and Stiles just stands there, not sure what happened. What is he supposed to do with that. WHAT.
But then the doorbell rings, and when he opens it Derek says he forgot his other bag, and Stiles brings it to him and Derek is up in his space, pressing a hot kiss against his mouth, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of Stiles’s neck. Stiles doesn’t know what to do with his hands. His shirt is still wet and stained and Derek Hale is half-sighing, those long eyelashes beloved by teen girls worldwide fluttering against Stiles’s cheek.
#just a wolf standing in front of a boy (x)