Archive of Our Own

The first one was not Stiles’ fault. He’d never even met the man.

“And now you’re not going to,” his dad sighed when Stiles told him as much.

Stiles let out out a short burst of semi-hysterical laughter because, really, he’d just found out the man he’d been engaged to had died in his sleep the night before and, in response, his dad had made a horribly inappropriate joke; what else was he supposed to do?

The second one was maybe his fault. Just a little bit. But at least that one didn’t actually die.

Stiles took a deep breath, wiped his palms on his jeans, and tried not to show how nervous he actually was. His dad already felt bad enough that Stiles had hit the age limit before finding his own partner. Stiles didn’t want to add any guilt on top of the pity.

His dad fixed his collar one last time, even though Stiles was pretty sure it was still perfect from the time his dad has straightened it two minutes before, and finally met Stiles’ eyes. He looked as sad as he was proud when he said, “You’re going to be a great husband to whoever they are. You know that, right?”

“I’m going to be terrible at this,” Stiles joked weakly. He’d only ever had one serious girlfriend, and they’d broken up because neither of them could be bothered to keep at it anymore. He really couldn’t do that with a government-sanctioned mating.

His dad smiled back, just as weakly. “Well, maybe. But you’ll try.”

Stiles nodded.

And then he proceeded to break that promise almost immediately when he tried to feed his newly-betrothed, Sarah, an almond macaroon later that night and sent her to the hospital.

“Stiles, what the hell?” Melissa asked, sounding so very tired, when Sarah was wheeled into the E.R. On the one hand, Stiles was glad to see his best friend’s mom working because it meant he wouldn’t have to wait as long for updates on Sarah; on the other hand, she was not going to pull any punches, and he felt bad enough already.

“I didn’t know she was allergic to almonds!” Stiles sank into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting room.

“This is why we send out medical records with the betrothal packets. So things like this don’t happen.”

Stiles had definitely read the packet. But it had just been so long and, frankly, pretty dull. So maybe he actually sort of ended up skimming most of it. He told himself it was because he wanted to hear Sarah tell him about herself instead of reading it from a soulless packet. (He was lying to himself pretty heavily in the days leading up to his big first meeting with Sarah.)

At Stiles’ clear look of guilt, Melissa just sighed again and got back to her rounds.

In the end, Sarah lived. She simply filed for Extreme Incompatibility when she was released from the hospital - instead of pressing charges because she was way better than Stiles ever deserved - and they went their separate ways.

By the third one, Stiles was starting to believe the rumors.

Unfortunately, Beacon Hills was such a quiet town that having one government-sanctioned mating fall through was usually front-page news. Having two? Stiles was in the papers for weeks.

His irritation with the Beacon Hills Gazette almost completely overpowered his nerves the third time around. Stiles just really wanted to get this all over and done with so that his life could settle down again. And so people would stop calling him the Black Widow of Beacon Hills when they thought he couldn’t hear them. That too.

Stiles’ first meeting with Jason was fine. Jason himself was fine. The ceremony at the courthouse was fine. Actually, it was great. Because Stiles was practically legally married now. He and Jason had just filed their Declaration of Intent paperwork with the courthouse, basically stating that they intended to mate. All they had to do now was actually have sex, and then sign some more paperwork verifying the fact that they’d gotten it on. It was a lot of unnecessary time and effort in Stiles’ opinion but he could see the end in sight and the Gazette could suck it.

They had a small reception at Stiles’ dad’s house after they had filed the Declaration of Intent paperwork. It was all Stiles’ family and friends because Jason evidently didn’t have either. And Stiles knew this because he read Jason’s betrothal packet like he was going to be quizzed on it at a later date. He was determined not to poison his spouse this time around. Unless things went really south. His friend Scott was borderline obsessed with Lifetime movies - Stiles had seen things. But he would cross that bridge if and when he came to it. Anyway, Stiles and Jason made polite small-talk with Stiles’ guests before they left for the small bed and breakfast a few towns north to get their mating over with.

Over the past week, the regulation time length between receiving a match and completing the legally-binding paperwork to make it official, Stiles learned that Jason didn’t generally speak unless asked a direct question, so he just dove right in for the both of them when they got to the B&B.

“Hi, we have a reservation for Stilinski,” he said distractedly, kicking at the left wheel on his suitcase to try and unstick it. The thing was fickle, but generally reliable. He didn’t want to have to fight the thing all the way to their room, though, if he also had to carry Jason’s luggage.

There was a pause before the receptionist asked, “Really?” He sounded almost angry.

Stiles looked up, confused, to find the receptionist - Kyle, according to his name tag - looking at Jason, who was staring coolly back.

“Really, Jason?” Kyle asked again, sounding sadder this time.

Stiles watched Jason’s face crumble. He watched the man he just married show the first bit of emotion Stiles had ever seen in the man. And it wasn’t towards him.

“You wouldn’t-” Jason started.

“We had time! I would have-” Kyle took a breath. “We still had a year before we had to put our names in the pool.”

“But you never said anything,” Jason said quietly, taking a step towards the counter. “I dropped all those hints, and you acted like you didn’t even care.”

Jesus . This was way too melodramatic for Stiles. It was probably for the best that this mating wasn’t going to work out because Stiles felt nothing when he said, “Come on.”

Jason and Kyle startled a little, like they’d forgotten he was even there. Which was basically Stiles’ love life in a nutshell.

At their equally wary looks, Stiles rolled his eyes. “We’re going to file for a Failed Mating, dumbass.”

Jason and Kyle kissed. Stiles left for the car.

Stiles hit rock bottom a week later when he yelled, “Jason didn’t even die!” at a couple of old ladies who were whispering about his Black Widow status in the canned goods aisle of the grocery store.

They looked extremely affronted. Stiles was asked to leave the premises.

“Do you think I can declare myself unfit to be mated?” Stiles asked Scott later that night when Scott brought Stiles his abandoned groceries.

Scott took a seat at the kitchen table and watched as Stiles started to put the food away.

“Is that even a thing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? You think my dad can make it a thing?”

It was not a thing and, despite all his pleading, his dad couldn’t make it one.

“Alright,” Stiles sighed when he got another betrothal packet in the mail three days later. It was probably unfair of him to expect someone who had to have their mating arranged by the government to have their shit together, but he really hoped this Derek Hale guy had his shit together.

Stiles’ first thought when he saw his latest betrothed was, “You probably have some serious personality defect,” because no one that attractive should have had to rely on a government-mandated mating.

It wasn’t like they didn’t give people a chance to do things their own way. The cut-off age was twenty-five; most people found that to be sufficient time to find their own mates. Then, once a person turned twenty-five, their name automatically went into a pool with all the other unmated twenty-five year olds, and the system would pair people up with a geographical match. It was dishearteningly clinical. Can one of you bear children? Great. You’re mates. Get cracking.

Once Earth’s population was on the rise and the need for procreation had dwindled somewhat, about fifty years ago, people started to question the necessity of mandated matings. Couldn’t they now leave having babies to those that actually wanted them? Now that things were stabilizing, shouldn’t the government - the collective government - step back and assume a role of representation rather than dictation.

This, the people in power argued, was what led to the population crisis in the first place. Sensing that they would not hold onto their power for long without a compromise, they introduced a week-long trial period of sorts to allow potential mates to get to know one another, to see if things might possibly work out or if that the match was completely out of the question. In the end, though, the outcome was always the same. Any semblance of control over their situation was superficial at best; it didn’t matter how many times a person rejected a potential mate, or was rejected, the government would just keep trying until someone stuck. Stiles was clearly proof of that.

Which brought Stiles back to his current betrothed: Derek Hale. Who was thirty. Considering Stiles had had three potential matings in the two months since he’d turned twenty-five, he was pretty suspicious of the guy.

Also, Derek Hale was stupidly attractive. As in, when Stiles first laid eyes on his picture in the betrothal packet, he’d just thought, How , for a good thirty seconds. Derek had to have all the personality defects for any of it to make sense.

Well, it was a good thing they had agreed to meet in the middle of a public park on a Saturday afternoon. Plenty of people around in case Derek turned out to be a murderer. Or scarily clingy. Or any number of things Stiles had definitely worked himself up about the night before.

Derek said, “Hello. I’m Derek,” as he took the free seat next to Stiles on a park bench.

Stiles said, “What’s wrong with you?”

This was why Stiles had to have the government find him a partner.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Derek asked. He had already looked uncomfortable when he’d sat down, like just meeting Stiles was a hardship - which was rude; Stiles was amazing - but his expression was now edging towards angry. “You know your mating history goes into your betrothal packet, right? Even the failed matings.”

“I’d never even met Jeff,” Stiles defended himself vehemently. “That one really shouldn’t be on me.” Then, what Derek had said started to sink in.

“Wait,” Stiles said, holding up a hand. “You didn’t have any arranged matings listed.”

Derek stared at him, face going blank.

“You’re thirty.”

“Congratulations, you can read,” Derek said, bone-dry.

“Yeah,” Stiles snaps, frustrated and curious in equal measure. “I can. And I read nothing about previous matings even though you’re thirty . How the hell did you manage to avoid it for five years.”

Derek looked mildly uncomfortable for a moment. Stiles had him.

“Come on, Derek. This is supposed to be the time for us to get to know each other.”

“So tell me about yourself.”

“You already know everything about me. It’s all in the betrothal packet, apparently. Except yours seems to be lacking,” Stiles said pointedly.

They stared at each other in a silent battle of wills that Stiles was not going to lose. He wasn’t. He was the wronged party here. He deserved-

“They didn’t work out,” Derek said eventually, stiffly, like that would be the end of the conversation.

“I literally sent one of my matches into anaphylactic shock,” Stiles said, unimpressed with Derek’s explanation. “What could be so horrible that the government would erase your history. Did you- were you in jail?”

Stiles had originally said it as a joke, but it actually made a lot of sense. He stared blankly at a spot just over Derek’s left shoulder. “Oh my god, you’re a criminal. What were you arrested for?”

“What? Stiles, I wasn’t in jail.”

“Yes, you were!” Stiles shouted, a bit hysterically. Whatever. His future husband was a lying convicted criminal; he thought that earned him some slack. “What other explanation could there be? What was it for? Please tell me it was a white collar crime and not, like, something violent.”

“Stiles,” Derek barked, clearly exasperated. “Stop. I’ve never been to jail.”

“Then what have you been doing the past five years?”

They stared at each other again, each silently willing the other to back down and give them what they wanted. It didn’t take long for Derek to crack first, thankfully.

Unfortunately, he let out a put-upon huff, and said, “This was a bad idea. Let’s just file for Extreme Incompatibility and be done with it. Good luck with everything, Stiles.”

“What? No. Unacceptable.” Stiles grabbed Derek’s elbow when he tried to stand up, forcing him back down to the bench. Derek eyed the hand on his arm like it personally offended him, then looked up at Stiles like, really ?

Stiles huffed in irritation, but he let Derek’s arm go and raised his hands in surrender. “Look, dude, this situation sucks. I don’t really want to be here, you clearly don’t want to be here, but we’re here. Just suck it up and deal with it because, let’s face it, we need each other.”

Derek eyed him warily for a moment, clearly deciding whether to fight some more or finally give in. Eventually, he nodded once. “My ex burned my childhood home down with my entire family still in it.” He held Stiles’ gaze almost defiantly.

There was really nothing to say to that but, “Well, shit, dude.” Then, because he had apparently lost all his shame in the last twenty minutes, he asked, “Why?”

“There was no reason. She just-” Derek shrugged, helpless. “She just did it because she wanted to.”

“Most people eat dessert or go on vacation when they decide to just go for things they want,” Stiles muttered.

“Well, apparently normal people go after an extra slice of pie, and homicidal maniacs go after me.”

Stiles couldn’t help it; he rolled his eyes. At Derek’s flat look, Stiles said, “I mean, not that I’m trying to tell you how to feel about your family, you know, dying and all, but come on. Don’t you think you’re being a bit melodramatic? That was one person out of the millions that live on the planet.”

“The government actually tried to mate me off once before you,” Derek said. “Right when I turned twenty-five. The whole thing with Kate happened when I was seventeen, and by that point I thought I was over it. So I let my name go into the pool.”

“But there isn’t-”

“It’s not in my record because she also tried to kill me, and the government didn’t want their mistake getting out. Said only my blood would cleanse her ever-living soul.”

“I’m not trying to be a dick here, but,” Stiles said cautiously, “would it?”

There were a whole host of supernatural creatures in the world. Maybe one thrived on the blood of a werewolf. It wasn’t actually that far-fetched an idea.

“No.” Derek looked distinctly unimpressed.

Stiles shrugged.

They fell into silence once again, and Stiles had no choice but to run through the fact that not only one, but two women had tried to kill Derek. He couldn’t help it. He had to blurt, “Good god, man. Why the hell are you even here right now?”

Derek huffed out a laugh. “I didn’t want to be mated after Jennifer-”

“Fucking rightfully so. Shit.”

“-so,” Derek said, talking right over Stiles, “I took a break.”

“Yeah, how’d you manage that? Because I tried. Believe me.”

“I went to therapy instead, and my therapist suggested that I not be put back in the pool.” Derek looked at Stiles a little too forcefully, like he was daring Stiles to say something.

“Wait,” Stiles said, horrified, “this isn’t some sort of therapist test, is it? Oh, it’s been five years. Gotta push you out of the nest now. ”

Confused, Derek said, “What? No. That’s not how therapy works.”

Stiles shrugged, like how would I know?

Derek sighed. “I thought I was ready. Am ready.”

That was kind of a metric shit-ton of pressure to put on Stiles, but he would think about that later. Or never. Preferably never. To help that plan along, he said, “We’re going to need alcohol if we’re going to make it through today.”

“I’ll drive.”

Finally, something they could agree on without reservation.

“I don’t even like babies,” Stiles admitted. Probably a bit too loudly, given the mildly horrified look from the couple sitting at the table next to them, but whatever.

The bar Stiles had followed Derek to was well-lit and well-kept and downright classy. Stiles, on the other hand, was not being very classy.

“I mean, I get that that’s where all this-” Stiles waved a hand between the two of them, “-is heading, but I have to tell you I’m just not that interested.”

There were doctors who would sign off on infertility documents while they slipped their patients contraceptives under the table. It was never a publicized thing, mostly because that would certainly land the doctor and any patients in question in jail, but it was a thing nonetheless. A few calls and Stiles could be 99% sure his body would stay a baby-free zone.  He was indifferent to the entire idea of childrearing, and had always figured he was too selfish to be able to put someone else’s needs so consistently before his own. It was the right thing to do, no matter what was required, expected, of him. He really hoped Derek could get on board with that plan.

Derek shrugged and said, “Okay.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes in suspicion. No way could it be that easy. Once, in college, a girl he was partnered with in a psychology class had told him, “You know, I can’t actually tell if I actually want kids. I mean, I think I do, but what if the societal pressure to have kids is so effective that I just think I want them?” Stiles got that, he really did. Just because he didn’t want kids didn’t mean he didn’t feel guilty at times. The government was very effective in its campaign. It’d had over seventy years to perfect its methods, after all.

Which brought him to Derek, and how it was highly unlikely that he just happened to stumble across someone who so easily gave in to going against what everyone was essentially raised to do.

At Stiles’ go on motion, Derek said, “I’m afraid of them.” And then the tips of his ears turned bright pink.

“What?” Stiles laughed. “How are you afraid of tiny, defenseless babies? Wait, is it the eyes? My friend Lydia swears babies stare at her and-”

“I got my whole family killed.” Derek spun one of their empty shot glasses between his hands for a moment, watching it twist intently. “I don’t want to go through that again.”

“But it’s fine if it’s me,” Stiles said without thinking.

For a second Derek just stared at Stiles, looking a little shocked. Whether it was by his own admission or Stiles calling him out on it, Stiles wasn’t entirely sure. Before Stiles could think about it too much, Derek’s mouth twisted into a frown. He stood up from the table, said, “Goodbye, Stiles,” and walked away.

Derek was half-way through the bar before Stiles realized the guy was trying to leave again . Jesus, he could run as far away from Stiles as he wanted, so long as he just fucking married Stiles first.

“Hey!” Stiles shouted, trying to wriggle his way out of their booth. It would seem tequila severely impaired his ability to navigate wood and plastic. Once he was free, he took a moment to reorient himself to the brave new world of standing before making his way to the front door and, eventually, to Derek’s car.

Stiles leaned his forearms against the top of the car, pressed his face into the glass, and said, “Hey.” He didn’t sound as angry as he was expecting, as he wanted to sound. It was just really hard to stay mad with a buzz going.

“I’m drunk,” Derek answered, looking deeply put out about it.

Since Derek clearly wasn’t going to roll down his window, Stiles walked around to the other side of the car and slid into the passenger seat.

They sat in silence for a while. Well, Stiles opened the glove compartment and every single other storage space he could find in the car, and then when that was done he rolled down the window before rolling it right back up. After he had explored everything within his reach, Stiles started drumming a beat on the dashboard with his index fingers. So Stiles actually made an obscene amount of noise for such a small space, but they didn’t actually talk until Derek said, “What if I just don’t like you?”

The thing was, Stiles was used to being disliked. He’d had to grow on every single friend he had. Except maybe Scott, who didn’t count anyway because he liked almost everyone indiscriminately. He could take being disliked, but that was probably only, like, twenty percent of why Derek wanted to end this whole thing.

Stiles simply answered, “No.”

Derek’s shoulders slumped, and he asked quietly, “What do you want from me?”

“ Marriage ,” Stiles said, maybe a tad indelicately, but he was so done with the runaround. “Honestly, dude, you can do whatever you want after we’re married.” In fact, with Stiles’ history, it would probably be for the best if Derek stayed a safe distance away. “But we are going through with this because I am tired. I want to get this over with. And think about it: not liking me actually works in your favor because if I do die, you won’t feel bad about it.”

“I’m not a sociopath,” Derek said, offended.

“Fine. You won’t have to mourn long. Or at all. What do I care, I’ll be dead.”

Derek looked a little uncomfortable.

“Seriously, though, do you think the next person you’ll get paired with will understand and agree with your views on this whole mating situation? Because I don’t.” At least they could agree on the big, important stuff. “Maybe that’s all we needed. The rest can follow.” They could learn to like each other in time. Or they could at least learn to stay out of each other’s way.

Derek was silent, clearly thinking everything over. Stiles had almost taken up finger-drumming on the dashboard again when Derek said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Derek nodded.

They lapsed into silence again, and Stiles glanced around.

“Well,” he said, “nothing is blurry anymore. I think that means I’m sober enough to get out of your car now.”

Derek just looked between him and the door as if asking, Well, what are you waiting for? Nice.

Stiles reached for the door handle and grumbled irritably, “Yeah, yeah. I’m going.”

He tripped over a crack in the asphalt on the way to his car.

Stiles swung his phone back and forth between his thumb and forefinger, debating whether or not he should call Derek. It was only five thirty, leaving them plenty of time to do something. Hang out.

Okay, so Stiles was a sucker. There were countless stories about people being paired up and forced to mate with happy endings. Stiles had no delusions that he and Derek would fall madly in love like most of those pairings, but he did actually want to like Derek if they were going to have to spend the rest of their lives together. And right now he didn’t. So he was trying to decide if he should spend more time with Derek before they were mated in the hopes that something likable shook out, or if he should just leave the compatability exploration for after the mating. When Derek couldn’t change his mind yet again.

“Screw it,” Stiles muttered, thumbing his way to Derek’s contact information.

He typed out and sent Wanna do something tonight? before he could second-guess himself. He was really hoping the night would make Stiles hate Derek a little less, not make Derek hate him even more.

It was a good forty-five minutes before Derek texted back, Who is this?

Stiles was tempted to type a lot of things. None of them were kind. He settled on a sarcastic, Your fiance, dearest.

After a full minute went by without a response, Stiles sighed, “Oh my god,” and just called Derek.

Derek picked up on the third ring. “Stiles?”

“You suck,” Stiles said lowly, “so much.”

“So doing something tonight is off now?” Derek asked, clearly just to be a dick.

“No, you know what? We are going to do something because I refuse to despise my mate. There has to be something likable about you.”

“Who knew you were such a romantic?” Derek deadpanned.

“Oh, I’ll show you romantic,” he said nonsensically, since his plans were nowhere near the vicinity of romantic. “My apartment. Now.”

“I don’t-”

“I will text you the address!” Stiles snapped before he hung up.

In his fit of possibly hunger-induced rage, Stiles failed to remember that he didn’t actually have any food in his apartment. When Derek got there, Stiles answered the door with, “So you could maybe make a stir-fry.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re making me dinner,” Stiles said, ushering him inside, “as punishment for, well, everything up until this moment, but I kind of don’t have much to work with.”

“You invited me over to have me cook for you,” Derek said flatly. Nevertheless, he followed Stiles into the kitchen.

“Well, yeah. This week is all about getting to know your mate, right? Now you know that I can’t cook, and that if you expect me to cook for you I will laugh in your face.”

“Setting expectations low, I see.” Derek nodded, then turned towards the fridge to look inside.

They were apparently doomed to take-out and pre-made frozen dinners for the foreseeable future because it turned out that Derek couldn’t cook either.

“I do just fine, Stiles,” Derek said stubbornly once he’d hung up with Szechuan Gardens .

“I’m sure there’s enough stuff in my apartment to make, like, soup or something. Soup’s easy, right?”

Derek huffs, clearly aggrieved. “You have baking soda, beer, a pizza box from god knows when, an eggplant-”

“Wait, that’s what an eggplant looks like? How the hell-”

“-and two eggs in your fridge. How exactly would I make a soup out of that?”

“There has to be some rice in one of the cupboards,” Stiles protested weakly. When Derek put it like that , Stiles sounded like a complete slob. Which he kind of was, but his dad had raised him hide that from other people at all costs .

Derek glared at him until he grinned sheepishly and asked, “Truce?”

Derek sighed and looked up to the ceiling like the entire situation was the worst thing he’d ever experienced, but he did agree to the truce. Then he said, “I almost hate to ask, but what are we going to do while we wait for our food? Clearly talking is out of the question.”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. There would probably be at least a little bloodshed by the time the delivery person got to the apartment if they continued on the way they were. And the blood would probably be Stiles’. Stiles was quite fond of having no blood ever exit his body.

“I have Netflix,” Stiles offered tentatively.

Apparently the offer was good. Derek nodded once, then turned to make himself comfortable on Stiles’ couch while Stiles left to grab his laptop from his room.

To avoid arguing about what to watch, Stiles magnanimously said, “You can pick.”

Derek eyed him warily, like it was some sort of trap. Fair enough.

“You can pick anything from my queue,” Stiles amended. He and Scott once spent two hours browsing through the movies, trying to decide what to watch. They must have looked through every possible movie three times before finally picking one.

“There it is,” Derek said quietly, but he sounded amused enough about it that Stiles let it go.

The night, surprisingly, did not suck. Derek settled on How It’s Made, which they became utterly entranced by. They only broke the silence to say things like, “Huh.” They ate dinner in relative silence when it arrived. Derek left. Between Derek’s mating history and his own, Stiles was very much willing to take a quiet night in where nothing at all of consequence happened.

Stiles was going to give it a few days. Really. Things had gone alright the night before, he had proven he and Derek could be in the same room for at least a couple of hours without strangling one another. Stiles wasn’t going to push his luck.

Until his dad called during lunch.

“Hey, kid. Dinner at my house tonight,” his dad said the second Stiles had picked up.

“Sure?” Stiles said, bemused. His dad wasn’t usually so pushy about dinner invites. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Will you be there with anything else?” his dad asked pointedly. “Say, a new person in your life?”

Stiles groaned. “No, I’m not bringing Derek to your house.”

“Why not?”

“Things-” Stiles sighed. “Things are in a weird spot right now. I don’t want to scare him off.” Derek was nothing if not primed to bolt at the slightest provocation at the moment. Stiles couldn’t see an evening in close quarters with the county sheriff who also happened to be his future mate’s fater going anything but poorly.

“I’m just going to spell it out for you son: things have not gone well for you so far.”

Stiles snorted. Like that was any new revelation.

“Just let me meet this Derek kid,” his dad continued. “Just to see if he’s good people, or if you should cut your losses now and go back to the drawing board. I promise I’ll make things as painless as possible.”

That sort of made sense. It was literally his dad’s job to sort the good from the bad. But Derek hadn’t left such a great first impression on Stiles, and he was genuinely afraid Derek would make Stiles’ dad hate him and that was his dad . His dad’s opinion mattered almost more than his own.

“Please, Stiles,” his dad said in the silence. “For my own peace of mind.”

Stiles sighed noisily. “God, you just had to pull out the big guns, didn’t you? Fine, we’ll be there at six.”

Stiles hung up, finished his sad brown-bagged lunch, and completely avoided calling, or even thinking about, Derek until the last possible second.

“Hey, you know what’s awesome?” Stiles asked when he finally sucked it up and called Derek. He had just gotten home from work, which left him twenty minutes to change into something less fancy and convince Derek to go along with everything before they had to be at his dad’s house. Which made him realize he actually had no idea where Derek lived. Hopefully not too far outside the city limits.

“Peace and quiet?” Derek answered without missing a beat.

Stiles laughed sarcastically. “No. Dinner with my dad is awesome. You should join us.”

Derek hummed noncommittally, clearly not taking Stiles seriously.

“Okay, you presence at dinner tonight has been requested by my dad, and I am demanding that you be there.”

There was a pause on the other end before Derek said, “Text me the details.”

Stiles pulled the phone away from his ear to stare incredulously at the screen, like it would give him some clue as to what was going on. “Wait, that’s it? No fight? No sarcastic quips?”

“Stiles,” Derek sighed.

“Hey, not that I’m complaining. This makes my life so much easier.”

“Just text me when and where,” Derek said, sounding profoundly done, before he hung up.

“And there’s the socially inept asshole I was expecting,” Stiles muttered, surprised to feel a little flare of affection alongside his irritation. He pushed it aside quickly, though. Two hours before an interrogation disguised as a dinner with his father and his future husband was probably not the time to contemplate a significant shift in his relationship.

He arrived at his dad’s house with a few minutes to spare. Derek’s car wasn’t in the driveway yet, so he turned off his own car settled in to wait. That way, he could catch Derek and give him the rundown of off-limit topics - politics was a given, but Liam Neeson was probably going to be a surprise - before they headed in.

He’d probably only been waiting a few minutes before his dad opened the front door and gave him an unimpressed look.

Stiles slowly got out of the car with a sheepish, “Hey, dad.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was just about to head in.”

“Actually, stay where you are,” his dad said. He shut the front door and came to meet Stiles in front of his car. “I need a few things from the store.”

It was Stiles’ turn to look unimpressed. “Really?”

“I just got off work. I didn’t have time to pick anything up,” his dad said, clearly lying through his teeth. He wasn’t even still wearing his uniform. There was time.

“Right,” Stiles said slowly. “And I suppose Derek will just have to wait here with you while I’m out picking things up?”

“Here’s the list of things I need,” his dad said, clearly ignoring Stiles’ accusation. “Hurry. We don’t want to keep our guest waiting.”

Unbelievable. His dad was shameless. Just because Stiles had come around to letting his dad vet Derek a little did not mean he was willing to leave him alone with Derek for half an hour. Stiles only agreed to let his dad vet Derek so that Stiles could know basically for sure that Derek wasn’t, like, stringing along five other potential mates, or wasn’t out to steal Stiles’ kidney or something. He wasn’t interested in whether or not his dad liked Derek. Mostly because he was pretty sure, at least if Stiles wasn’t around to cull the more colorful aspects of Derek’s personality and cut his dad’s more invasive questions off before they had a chance to offend, his dad wouldn’t like Derek all that much. He didn’t want to have that confirmed. Because it would suck.

Stiles was just about to explain all of this when Derek pulled into the driveway right behind Stiles.

“Oh, look at that,” Stiles crowed. “Guess he should come with me. To, you know, help with these-” he looked down at the list- “three things.”

His dad raised his eyebrows at him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Derek said as he got out of the car. “I hope you weren’t waiting out here for me.”

“Not at all,” Stiles said quickly, walking towards the passenger side of Derek’s car. “Back in your car. My dad needs us to get some things at the store.”

Derek looked between Stiles and his dad, clearly confused. “Okay?”

“You’re welcome to stay here with me while Stiles runs the errand,” his dad said. He stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Sheriff Stilinski. Nice to finally meet you, Derek.”

Derek took his hand and shook it. “You too, sir. Derek. I’m Derek.” He paused, then said a little quieter, “Which you already knew.”

Oh no. Stiles was prepared for a lot of things tonight, but a nervous Derek Hale was not one of them. Stiles found it charming . It was awful.

Clearly his dad found it charming as well because he let out a chuckle and asked, “Staying or going, son?”

“Going,” Stiles answered for him. The both looked over at Stiles, who motioned to his and Derek’s cars. “He’s blocking me in.”

Honestly, Stiles was a little relieved. At the rate things were going, he was afraid he would go out for groceries and come back to find Derek leaving him for his dad.

“We’ll hurry back, sir,” Derek said apologetically, and walked back towards his car.

“Please,” Stiles’ dad said. “Call me John.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles groaned.

They drove to the grocery store mostly in silence because Stiles was busy trying to readjust his whole worldview and Derek’s radio was broken.

The only time they had spoken was when Stiles had tried to turn it on and Derek had explained, “My friend’s two year old shoved some jelly beans in the tape player a while back. The whole thing hasn’t really been the same since.”

“Oh,” Stiles had said. And that was that.

They stayed quiet until they walked through the grocery store’s automatic front doors and Derek asked, “I’ll do produce, you do dairy?” holding up the list

“This is grossly domestic,” Stiles said with a frown.

“Well, we are going to be married in four days,” Derek pointed out reasonably. “Stop complaining and get the milk.”

Stiles split off to grab the milk - along with a few other snacks and non-perishable food items for his own apartment because Stiles was a wanderer, not a planner - before he rejoined Derek in the produce section.

Except Derek was no longer alone. Instead, he was talking to a short, brunette woman. She said something Stiles wasn’t close enough to hear, but whatever it was made Derek’s eyebrows raise. He heard Derek say mildly, “I think I’ll be fine, thanks.”

Stiles was close enough now that he could hear her say, “I’m just worried, is all.”

“Right. Well, if you’re really concerned, why don’t you take it up with him yourself?” Derek nodded behind her, towards Stiles.

The woman spun around, eyes widening when she saw Stiles standing near the edge of the section. “Oh, no. I’m- I- just think about-” and with that she just kind of gave up and power-walked away, leaving her basket of groceries behind.

“What,” Stiles asked, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice, “was that all about? Oh, wait, don’t tell me. She wanted you all for herself.”

Derek smirked at him. “Actually, she told me she was worried about me. Since everyone you try to mate with comes to a tragic end.”

“Oh my god . I’m going to kill someone.” Why couldn’t everyone in that damn town just leave him alone? Or chase him out with pitchforks and be done with it?

“Wouldn’t be the first time, apparently,” Derek said.

“Jason didn’t die! And neither did Sarah, for that matter.”

As they hunted for the last item on the list, Stiles said quietly, “Hey, so, should we talk about this? Because that woman maybe wasn’t completely wrong.”

Stiles really didn’t want to have this conversation, but he was weak and tonight was doing things to him. Things like making him care if Derek lived or died. It was pretty inconvenient.

“I know it would be exactly my luck if you were a serial killer,” Derek said as he was inspecting a tray of mushrooms, “but I have a hard time believing you could pull off three murders and still be walking free.”

Not exactly what he meant, but- “Okay, one? Offense. I’m totally smart enough to kill a bunch of people and get away with it. And two, only one of my previous betrothals actually died. Before I met him. So it doesn’t count.” And with that he indignantly defended himself all the way through paying for the groceries and the ride back to his dad’s house, completely forgetting why he brought it up in the first place.

It was dark by the time they got back to the house. His dad was nice enough to turn on the porch light for them, which made looking for his dad’s house key on his key ring a lot easier.

“Hey, we’re back,” Stiles called out when he let them.

“Good timing,” his dad called from the kitchen. “Guess who just showed up.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘Guess who’s just leaving?’” Stiles parroted because, really. He was pretty sure he knew who it was, and he was definitely sure he resented being made a spectacle of by his best friend. The Gazette had that covered in spades.

Sure enough, when they rounded the corner into the kitchen, Scott was setting the table while his dad stirred something on the stovetop.

“Hey, Stiles!” Scott said, overbright, the way he got when he was feeling guilty. “This must be-” Scott paused before he said, “Derek,” with a weirdly flat voice.

Stiles looked at Derek, mouth opening to ask what the hell that mood shift was all about, when he caught sight of Derek sort of hunching in on himself.

“Scott,” Derek said cautiously. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Again?” Stiles asked. “What the-” And then it all clicked. He asked Scott, “ This Derek is that Derek?”

Scott and Stiles had gone to separate colleges, but they were still close enough that they could meet up every weekend. During second semester of Sophomore year, every time they met up to hang out Scott would complain about how pushy his Anthropology T.A. was. The T.A. - Derek, because of course it was - was convinced Scott was perfect for the Anth. department, and basically made himself a nuisance by keeping Scott after class, slipping brochures about the department into Scott’s graded papers, forwarding e-mails about department functions, that sort of thing. It drove Scott crazy. When Scott finally passed the class and never took another Anth. class again, Derek had no choice but to back off.

Derek ducked his head for a moment, showing off how spectacularly flushed the back of his neck was, before he looked back up at Scott. “I wanted to apologize for that semester.”

That was clearly not what Scott had been expecting because he blinked at Derek in surprise.

“I thought I was being helpful,” Derek continued. “You just showed so much potential. But I realize now that I didn’t handle things in the best way.”

Now it was Stiles’ turn to be surprised. Who was this person? He could be prickly and mean when it was just Stiles, but around other people he was nice and apologetic? It was- it was giving Stiles emotional whiplash is what it was.

Before he could confront Derek about it, Scott grinned. “Hey, man. It’s all good. Thanks, though.”

That was something Stiles had always sort of envied about Scott, the way he was so quick to like and quick to forgive. His best friend was just so easy to be around. Maybe that was why Derek was such a different person around everyone but Stiles: Stiles was just difficult.

“Alright, everyone,” Stiles’ dad said, diverting everyone’s attention to him. “Food’s almost ready. Have a seat.”

“You didn’t need any of that food we just got,” Stiles accused, voice low, as he passed his dad.

“Yes I did. I just don’t need it right now.”

Well, Stiles certainly learned how to play the semantics game from his father. No one could ever deny that.

Stiles took the seat next to Derek, with Scott across from Derek and an empty seat in front of Stiles for his dad.

Derek leaned over and murmured, “So the trip to the store just now?”

“I think you got brownie points for it,” Stiles answered just as quietly.

Derek nodded like he had expected nothing less, looking both amused and pleased. When he leaned back, away from Stiles, Stiles had to catch himself from following just to keep Derek close. Derek had a nice...everything, and it was even nicer up close. Stiles was just one man. When he finally worked up the will to look away from Derek, Scott was staring at him like he was trying not to laugh out loud at him. So that was mortifying.

Thankfully his dad chose that moment to come in with the pot of soup - chilli, from the smell of it - he had been stirring, and ran back for a salad and some bread rolls, thoroughly distracting the bottomless pit that was his best friend.

“It’s not much,” his dad said when he finally joined them at the table. “But it’s Stiles’ favorite.”

“Yes it is,” Stiles said, knowing exactly what his dad had made and reaching enthusiastically for the pot. He almost fell into Derek’s lap and knocked the whole pot over into Scott’s lap, but Derek put a steadying hand on his shoulder while the other reached out to steady the pot. Totally worth it because chilli . If his dad weren’t such a staunch law-abider, Stiles would suspect he added crack to it.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, filling his bowl quickly. When he sat back down, he saw that Derek was flexing his left hand, the one that had reached out to steady the pot, beneath the table. Sheepishly, he said, “Sorry, man. Do you need anything for that?”

When Derek looked over at him, confused, Stiles nodded towards his hand, where a few angry red welts were raised along his palm and fingers.

“It’ll be fine in a minute,” Derek answered.

Scott sucked in a sympathetic breath. “Oh, did you burn yourself? Yeah, be thankful you can heal extra fast. You’re gonna need it with him.”

“Kid attracts danger like a magnet,” his dad agreed.

“Hey,” Stiles squwaked, even though it was completely true.

Before his dad or Scott had the chance to tell any embarrassing stories detailing just how clumsy Stiles really was, and how doomed Derek really was, Stiles asked Scott, “Hey, how’s your kid doing?”

Scott was, in a word, obsessed with his baby. Stiles assumed most new parents usually were. Regardless, it was a sure-fire way to get out of any conversation Stiles didn’t want to have. It had been a godsend lately, what with all the relationships literally forced upon him by the government somehow still not working out.

“Our little peanut has toenails now!” Scott enthused, completely focused on the new topic at hand. “You want to see?”

Weirdly enough, yes, Stiles did want to see what toenails looked like on a fetus. He couldn’t even begin to imagine.

As Scott brought out his phone and started rambling on about ultrasounds, Stiles’ dad said, “It’s nice to see you taking to fatherhood so well, Scott,” so pointedly that Stiles’ hackles raised immediately.

Scott just grinned and came around the table to show Stiles his phone. “I can’t wait to be a dad. I mean, I am already, but I can’t wait to meet the little one, you know?” He pointed to the screen, angling it so both Stiles and Derek could see. “That’s his or her arm-”

“And how do you feel about that, Derek?” Stiles’ dad asked, cutting Scott off. They all looked up to see his dad staring at Derek. He didn’t quite look menacing, but he didn’t exactly look friendly either.

“Uh,” Derek said slowly, clearly trying desperately not to say the wrong thing, “I’m happy for you, Scott.”

“Cut it out, dad,” Stiles said. “We’ve already talked about it. We’re on the same page.”

His dad nodded like he was processing the information. “You’re on the same page, as in Derek’s on your page, or you’re on Derek’s?”

“As in we were always on the same page,” Stiles explained, not quite managing to not roll his eyes. Between his dad and his childhood best friend, he felt like a teenager all over again. He glanced over to make sure it was okay with Derek that they were talking about this. It was kind of a private matter, but this was his family. They’d find out eventually. Derek looked a little wary of the conversation, but he shrugged at Stiles, like, This is your show .

“Sorry, dad,” Stiles continued, once he had Derek settled. “Allison’s little nugget is going to be your only chance at a grandkid.” He turned towards Derek at the last second and explained, “Allison is Scott’s mate.”

“I gathered,” Derek said, sounding a little amused.

“Good,” Stiles’ dad said then, sounding like he actually meant it. “I’m really glad to hear that. Not that I don’t wish-”

Stiles cut his dad off with, “Hey, so where are these toenails I was promised?” Just because his dad had accepted Stiles’ choice not to have kids a while ago didn’t mean he didn’t complain about not having grandkids to spoil every now and then.

Before Scott could point out the mythical toenails, they were interrupted yet again by a knock at the front door.

“I know you were his idea,” Stiles said to Scott, nodding his head over towards his dad. “Do you know if he invited anyone else to check Derek out?”

His dad indignantly said, “I did not,” as Scott shrugged and Derek choked a little on his water.

When they figured out no one knew who was at the door, they all piled into the foyer to see who it was.

“I feel like we’re living in a sitcom,” Stiles whispered to Derek. Derek huffed out a small laugh.

Stiles’ dad opened the door to find Lydia Martin standing on the porch. Stiles had been in love with Lydia through most of high school, and then they had been roommates all through college. After college, she’d flown across the country for a job while Stiles stayed put in California, but they’d kept in contact. She’s actually just moved back a couple of weeks before; they had plans to get lunch next week.

“Sorry to drop by unannounced,” Lydia said, sounding anything but. The curious way she was eyeing Derek confirmed it.

“Jesus, is Mrs. Bowman going to show up tonight too?” Stiles asked incredulously.

Scott turned to him, face completely lit up. “I know you were joking, but I wonder how she’s doing. She was the best.” He looked over at Derek and said, “Mrs. Bowman was our third grade teacher, and she used to-”

“Hello, Lydia,” Stiles’ dad said, cutting Scott off. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Stiles almost wanted to see what lie Lydia could come up with on the spot, but his chilli was getting cold and it was easier to just go along with whatever she wanted anyway so he just said, sounding resigned, “Come on in. Derek, this is Lydia. She’s here to see if you’re going to result in a trainwreck like all the others.”

“This is not how I raised you,” Stiles’ dad sighed as he stepped aside to let Lydia inside.

“Hi,” Derek said, clearly fighting to keep a smile off his face.

“Hello,” Lydia replied.

After that, dinner wasn’t bad. There were so many people throwing out so many conversation topics that his dad hardly had a chance to talk, let alone question Derek. And it was really nice to have the people Stiles cared about most in one room again. Except for Allison, but with the way every other sentence out of Scott’s mouth started with, “Allison said…” it was like she was there anyway.

After a couple of hours and a couple of beers, everyone decided to call it a night.

“Thanks for inviting me, Mr. Stilinski,” Scott said as everyone filed out of the house.

“Dinner was lovely, Sheriff,” Lydia seconded.

“Thank you, Lydia,” Stiles’ dad replied.

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Derek said, turning to offer his hand to Stiles’ dad again. Stiles had to press his lips together to keep from laughing out loud.

Judging from the way his dad cleared his throat before he took Derek’s hand and said, “Call me John. Really,” his dad was having a similar problem.

They all waved goodbye to each other and confirmed various lunch and dinner plans before Scott and Lydia drove off and his dad shut the front door, leaving Stiles and Derek alone in the driveway.

“So,” Stiles said slowly, at a loss for what to say. Well, that wasn’t true. He wanted to say, I’m really glad I get to keep you , but what came out was, “You were good in there. How’d you manage that?”

Derek shot him a wry look, but answered seriously, “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about how we agree on the important thing and the rest will follow, and I agree. I think this, you and me, makes the most sense out of all our options. So I’m trying.”

It wasn’t romantic in the slightest but it was perfect.

“Breakfast,” Stiles blurted. Because apparently he sometimes had trouble functioning as a human being. “Do you want to get breakfast with me tomorrow morning?”

Derek smiled at him then, soft and small, and said, “Okay.”

Yeah, Stiles never had a chance.

“You are officially a Black Widow,” Derek said the next day, tossing a copy of the Gazette to Stiles.

They had agreed to meet for breakfast at a diner near Stiles’ work at the ungodly hour of seven. Derek swore by their biscuits and gravy. Stiles didn’t care as long as he got a free hot breakfast out of the deal. And coffee. Many, many cups of coffee to make up for having to physically get out of bed an entire hour earlier than normal that morning to be ready on time.  

“My favorite thing about you was that you didn’t read this trash,” Stiles said through a yawn. “And now you’ve gone and ruined that.”

“Have you actually read it, though?” Derek asked. “There’s at least two typos on every page. It’s pretty entertaining.” He took a sip of Stiles’ coffee, made a face, and pushed it back towards Stiles. Stiles just rolled his eyes.

Derek nodded to the paper and said, “Page three.”

Still pretty unconvinced it would be anything worth seeing with his own two eyes, Stiles slowly flipped the front page over. After a few seconds of scanning headlines about asparagus and a three car pile-up on the road out of town that resulted in a whopping zero casualties, his eyes ran across Two Locals Mauled by Bear . It was the last article on the page, so it had to be the one Derek wanted him to read. After the first sentence - ‘Jason Severs, 25, and Kyle Mathewson, 24, two recently-mated locals, were mauled to death in a tragic bear attack this past Monday.‘ - it was clear why.

“Holy shit,” Stiles said. He looked up at Derek, eyes wide. “Is this for real?”

“How should I know? You’re the one with the connections to law enforcement.”

A quick call to his very exhausted father confirmed that, yes, Jason - Stiles’ Jason - and Kyle had been attacked by a bear while camping about ten miles north of the B&B where they reunited.

“Oh my god, I am the Black Widow,” Stiles breathed when he hung up.

Derek patted his hand condescendingly.

“I hope you have your affairs in order, man, because it is not looking good for you.” Stiles had meant for it to sound like a joke, but it came out too small and brittle to be anything but serious.

Derek, for his part, stopped patting his hand, and grabbed it instead.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Stiles told him as he ran his thumb across the back of Stiles’ left hand in a soothing pattern. “You made me care about you, and now look where we are.”

“Hey,” Derek said, letting go of his hand. “Look at the people I’ve been paired with. If anything, we’ll cancel each other out.”

That- huh. Derek’s past potential mates had been out to kill him and had failed. Stiles got people killed, but Derek apparently couldn’t be killed. Maybe the government had actually done something right this once, pairing them up.

Stiles was just about to tell him as much when their waitress came back with their food, and all attention was diverted.

“Come by my house after work,” Derek said as they started to dig in.

Stiles eyed him suspiciously. “Why.” With Derek’s history of people trying to kill him, he’d have thought Stiles’ death count bumping up to 66% this morning would have been the last straw.

“Just do it.” He didn’t sound like he was going to change his mind, and Stiles was not in a place to fight him on it, so he just nodded.

The rest of breakfast was a little subdued, as was Stiles’ day. He was about to call Derek to ask if they could just do whatever it was tomorrow when he walked out of work to find Derek waiting for him.

“We can pick up your car later,” Derek explained. “Get in.”

“Why?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Just get in the damn car. It’ll be easier for me to just take you to my house than to try and give you directions.”

That made absolutely no sense, but Stiles got in the car with only the token protest of, “I could follow you in my car, you know.”

Derek ignored him.

They were just crossing the Beacon Hills city limits when Stiles said, “Hey, I meant to ask you last time, but why would putting jelly beans in the tape player make your entire radio not work?”

Derek grinned, glancing down at said radio and briefly up at Stiles before refocusing on the road. “Because then she tried to get them out with the tip of her sippy cup.”

“Oh no. Juice?”

“It leaked out of the on button for hours.”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. He was just about to ask if he still speaks to the girls parents or if they’ve all been exiled when Derek takes a turn Stiles hadn’t ever noticed into the treeline about five minutes outside of Beacon Hills.

“I thought we were going to your house,” Stiles said, confused. He crained his neck to look up up at the trees.

“We are,” Derek answered. “This was why I drove.”

“Fair enough.”

The dirt pathway was barely big enough for one car, trees pressed in on either side. They came to a clearing only a few minutes later with a good-sized house on the far, left-hand side of the area.

“ That’s your house?” Stiles asked, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. It was stunning.

“This is home,” Derek said. He parked in front of the garage next to the house and got out, leaving Stiles to scramble up to the front door after him.

After discovering during their tour that the house had eight bathrooms, six bedrooms, and a sitting room that was evidently separate from the living room, Stiles couldn’t help but ask, “And you live here with how many people?”

Derek looked a little uncomfortable. “Just me.”

Stiles followed him back downstairs to the kitchen so they could start making dinner, and he felt off-balance.

“Hey, did I say something?” Stiles ventured as he watched Derek silently pull out vegetables from the refrigerator. He took a seat at the island in the middle of the room.

Derek sighed from behind the door, then shut it and came over to stand in front of Stiles, keeping the island between them.

“Do you remember me telling you about my family?” Derek asked.

Yeah, hearing about an entire family being burned alive was kind of hard to forget. He nodded.

“Our house was a few miles north of here, in the Beacon Hills Preserve. I thought recreating the house that burned down would keep me close to them, I guess. I don’t know why.”

“Did it?” Stiles asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. When he was a kid, there were days where he couldn’t stand talking about his mom, but he hated being treated carefully more than anything.

Derek smiled slightly down at the counter. “Sort of. It was mostly just weird, though. The entire first year I lived here, I kept expecting to hear my sisters shouting about hogging the ‘good bathroom’ and slamming doors and my dad’s jazz music that he always played way too loud coming from the study.” He looked back up at Stiles. “I got my house back with none of the chaos.”

Derek wanted chaos. He wanted a lot of people running around and making noise and- and Stiles couldn’t give that to him.

“Hey,” Stiles said lightly, tapping his fingers on the counter, “are you sure you want to do this with me? I know you’ve had some shitty goes of it in the past, but there has to be someone out there who can give you- give you that.”

Because as selfish as he was, Stiles couldn’t be selfish about this. He couldn’t keep Derek just because he wanted to, while all Derek wanted was to not be afraid. He didn’t want Derek to have to settle.

“What are you talking about?” Derek asked.

“You want slamming doors and jazz and noise , and I,” Stiles shrugged helplessly, “don’t.”

“You’re plenty noisy on your own,” Derek said, looking down at where Stiles’ fingers were still tapping restlessly against the counter. He smiled at Stiles. “You saw how big this place is. This house was never meant for just one person.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked, still not entirely convinced.

“I have friends that come by, too. Sometimes I babysit for them. You’re not depriving me of anything.” Derek frowned slightly. “About that: how strongly do you not like kids?”

Stiles had to take a moment to figure out how to say what he was thinking. It wasn’t exactly something you could go around discussing with everyone you met, and he had never actually had a formal conversation with his dad or Scott about not wanting to have kids. But if Derek was going to try, so was he. Eventually, he settled on, “I’ve never really been around them enough to know. I mean, I don’t hate them or anything, but I’m not- I don’t know.”

“So you’d be okay with me babysitting sometimes?” Derek asked, sounding so cautiously hopeful that Stiles knew he’d never be able to say no.

The idea kind of freaked him out, to be honest. He’d been around kids here and there, and they’d never really taken to him. He’d never taken to them, either, which had left him feeling casual indifferent towards them. The idea of having kids in his house that he was responsible for, that he had to entertain instead of being able to walk away and write them off as someone else’s problem, was nerve-wracking. What did kids even like to do? What if he ruined this for Derek?

“I could always babysit the kids at their houses,” Derek said. He tried to hide it, but he was clearly disappointed by the thought. Stiles took stock of the situation and realized that he both hadn’t said anything in awhile and he probably looked utterly terrified.

Oh god, he was a mess.

“No!” Stiles shouted, startling them both. He lowered his voice and continued, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Kids just- we don’t get along. They don’t like me for some reason. Never have. I was- I’m not going to be very good at this.”

Derek stared at him with an unreadable expression for long enough that Stiles started to apologize again, but the apology was cut short when Derek walked around to where he was sitting and kissed him. It was hard and over before Stiles could even register what was happening and generally not particularly good, so Stiles demanded, “Do-over.” They’d gotten this far with sheer determination and will; they could damn well get better at kissing.

Derek obliged.

The next few days were a flurry of moving Stiles’ things into Derek’s stupidly extravagant house, and fighting about where to actually put said things. Everything had started civil, but there were only so many times a person could patiently point out that the other person was obviously so wrong it was borderline offensive before someone snapped. Stiles threatened at least seven times during this period to just move into one of the guest bedrooms because there was no way he could stand to even look at Derek, let alone sleep next to him. Each time, Derek threatened right back to build him a shack out back so that they could just avoid each other altogether. That sort of thing.

In the end, none of that happened. Mostly because Derek pointed out that there wouldn't be plumbing or running water in the shack. Stiles hadn't actually thought about that, and conceded the point. Things got easier after that. By the time they drove over to the courthouse Friday morning, Stiles was more or less successfully moved in.

They paused at the bottom of the steps and stared at the building for a moment.

Stiles broke the silence first when he said, “I’m glad I got stuck with you.”

“High praise,” Derek said dryly, but he looked cautiously, stupidly pleased all the same.

It was gross how much Stiles enjoyed putting that look there.

All in all, the paperwork took about twenty minutes. It wasn’t even noon. Since Stiles’ dad had decided to throw Stiles a reception “only if this one stuck,” all they had left to do, really, was go home and get it on.

For some reason, Stiles was a little nervous. It wasn’t like it was his first time. That was all his relationship really was with Malia in those last few months. In fact, most people mated outside of the law, only making it official when they decided they’d found the right partner or ran out of time. So he wasn’t new to sex, but he was new to sex with Derek.

There was an awkward moment when they got back to the house where they both sort of lingered in the foyer.

Derek asked, “Are you, uh, hungry?”

Stiles basically jumped on him.

Derek made a surprised noise, but went with it. Smart man. Stiles started pushing Derek towards the stairs without breaking their kiss, and Derek started fumbling with the buttons on Stiles’ shirt. They somehow both managed to get what they wanted. By the time they got to Derek’s - their - bedroom at the end of the hall, they were both completely naked and more than ready to get to an actual bed.

The backs of Stiles’ knees hit the edge of the bed so hard, so unexpectedly, that he toppled over, letting out a very undignified squawk in the process. He also managed to cling to Derek so hard that Derek fell on top of him, and Derek let out an, “Oof,” of his own.

Stiles started laughing almost immediately. He could feel, rather than hear, Derek do the same.

“Oh, god,” Stiles managed to get out. “I really am a danger to mate with.”

Derek pulled back to look at Stiles properly. With a cocky smirk, he said, “I think I can handle it.

Aside from a black eye thanks to an errant elbow, both Derek and Stiles managed to survive the night unharmed.