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After years of what Lydia affectionately refers to as a will-they-won't-they arc worse than Ross and Rachel, Derek and Stiles finally get together.
It starts a few weeks after Stiles's 18th birthday, in the aftermath of a particularly deadly encounter with a siren, with a shouting match that ends with one of them bellowing just fucking kiss me already and a press of flailing limbs against the wall of Derek's loft.
And then the Sheriff walks in on the two of them making out on Stiles's bed one night, and sits them down a respectable distance apart on the living room couch so that they can have the talk, during which Stiles's dad hands them a box of condoms and a bottle of lube with a narrow-eyed warning of I'd better not see any bite marks on your neck, werewolf or otherwise, Derek nods politely and says things like, yes, sir and I understand, sir as the Sheriff grills them about safe sex practices, and Stiles sinks into the depths of the couch in the hope that it'll open up a portal to Narnia and swallow him whole before he dies of embarrassment and first-degree facial burns from the heat of his own blood.
And it doesn't end there.
In the weeks that follow, Stiles can't seem to escape the Sheriff's watchful eyes, pointed glances, and vaguely threatening commentary (jokes? Stiles hopes they're just jokes) about enlisting the help of his fellow officers to chaperone their dates, calling after them as they walk out the door to meet up with Scott and the rest of the pack for a movie night with warnings like you boys behave yourselves and make sure he's home by curfew.
By the time their relationship hits the three month mark, Stiles finally reaches his breaking point, dropping an armful of snacks on the living room floor with an exasperated sigh, and whirling around on his father.
"Look," he says, raking a hand through his hair and accidentally kicking a bag of doritos even further out of reach. "I know the whole werewolf thing was a big adjustment, and yeah, there's kind of an age difference here, but honestly, dad, Derek is so immature sometimes that it's kind of like we're operating on the same level. In fact, if anything, I'm the cougar in this situation."
Stiles freezes, eyes growing wide as he watches the Sheriff's eyebrows hike up to his hairline.
"No, wait— that didn't come out right," Stiles groans, slapping a hand over his forehead.
"The point is, I'm an adult," he amends, heaving a weary sigh as he attempts to salvage whatever is left of his dignity. "I can make my own decisions, and I choose Derek. He makes me happy. He's a good guy. He treats me well. He looks out for me, keeps me safe. He's responsible and respectful and a complete gentleman, and I really think that if you just got to know him a little better, you'd really—"
The Sheriff holds up a hand, effectively cutting Stiles off mid-ramble.
"I like Derek just fine," he says, and the smile that spreads across his face is warm and genuine.
"You do?" Stiles falters, completely thrown. "Wait, so then why—"
The Sheriff's fond smile turns to one of wry amusement.
"It's you I don't trust, Stiles," he says around a hearty chuckle. "I've raised you for 18 years, I know exactly what kind of mischief you're capable of. Wouldn't want you dragging that nice, respectable boy into any trouble."
The Sheriff strolls into the kitchen, head thrown back in laughter at the look on Stiles's face. Stiles stares after him, open-mouthed, his only response a high-pitched squawk of indignation.
All this time, and he thought he was the king of sarcasm.
There's an unmistakable bark of laughter from the floor above. Stiles scowls and vows to make the stupid smug sourwolf come downstairs and get his own snacks.
With a huff, Stiles collects his scattered snacks off the floor and begins trudging his way back upstairs.
"Say hi to Derek for me," the Sheriff says with a knowing smile as he rounds the corner with a steaming mug of coffee and a stack of paperwork clutched in his hands. "Oh, and tell him to use the front door next time. I'm tired of finding bootprints on our shingles."
Stiles splutters and nearly face-plants into the banister, and by the time he wrenches his bedroom door open and tackles his boyfriend, pelting him with bags of pretzels and doritos, he's not sure which one of them is laughing harder.
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