Derek likes to touch her breasts, likes to rest his head on them. Some mornings Stiles wakes up to Derek’s fingers touching her piercing with sleepy focus. Most of the time, Derek has terrible bedhead and won’t be coherent for another hour and his fingers will be uncoordinated and clumsy.
“You’re making me horny,” Stiles complains.
“So get yourself off,” Derek says.
Stiles hums and squirms a little, because that’s not actually a bad idea. “You wanna watch?”
Derek shakes his head, his beard scratching and tickling on Stiles’ stomach. “Not really.”
“Okay.” Stiles tugs her fingers through Derek’s hair. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be over how thick it is. “So which one of us is vacating the bed?”
“Bath,” Derek says, then rolls off the bed. It’s always gratifying to see that early mornings has Derek stumbling, that he won’t quite open his eyes all the way. Sleepy Derek is usually an overly cuddly one, but you won’t ever see Stiles complaining over that (cuddling is awesome and trumps everything on all the levels, seriously). The thing is, she’s kind of stupidly in love with Derek exactly the way he is, so she thinks that’s okay.
In the bathroom, the taps start running with water to fill the tub. It won’t be long before the room’s filled with steam and the scent of whatever bath oils Derek chooses this morning. In the bed, Stiles stretches out and reaches down between her legs.
There are days when Derek watches, when he sits in the armchair in their bedroom, avid eyes fastened on hers. He never breaks eye contact, never takes his eyes off hers, no matter what Stiles is doing. Maybe she felt a little awkward, a little out of her depth the first couple of times they did that, and maybe she tried to, well. It wasn’t that she put on a show because Stiles would most likely end up poking an eye out with a dildo or something rather than actually look sexy or alluring or whatever you’re supposed to look like, but she maybe tried to arch her back a little, show off, but Derek’s eyes never left hers and, yeah, Stiles isn’t stupid or slow.
Stiles gets that all Derek wants is her, that he loves her exactly the way she is the same way Stiles loves Derek. She gets that, she does. Stiles has seen Derek relax, has seen him lose the tension he always carries around. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that whatever relationship(s) Derek’s been in before weren’t necessarily the best ones for him. Every day that goes by – every week, month, year – since they became DerekandStiles…
Stiles smiles and closes her eyes. She remembers when Derek finally understood, accepted deep within his bones that Stiles would never ask for anything Derek didn’t want to give in the first place, that Stiles would never make demands of his body or his love (she thinks it’s probably always been true for Derek the other way around, that he would never push Stiles to offer anything she wasn’t already giving him). She remembers, because he went to bed a wolf and curled up around her, put his cold, wet nose behind her ear. She remembers, because in the morning when Stiles woke up, feeling lazy and content, Derek shifted back and asked if he could watch, maybe. If that was okay.
If it was okay for him to watch, to only watch, nothing more, because he thought maybe he’d like to. Because he loves Stiles, he does, and he thinks maybe that would be okay. To just watch, from a distance.
Stiles remembers saying “I love you,” and “I have this great vibrator that I’ve been dying to use for ages but it’s so fucking loud,” and “That’s okay, right? If I do that?”
Stiles remembers Derek’s private smile, his soft eyes. His smirk, when he said, “I’ll do anything for love, but I won’t do that.”
Stiles remembers hitting him over the head.
She remembers the ensuing wrestling that had turned most of their bedroom upside down: the ripped pillows and the torn down curtain rod, the dent in the wall. That was okay, though, because that was the day Derek stopped bracing himself, stopped being afraid that Stiles would dump him because love and sexual attraction weren’t one and the same for him.
That was before though, Stiles thinks, and right now she has a spectacular fantasy to re-visit.
“I’m gonna think about your tight ass,” Stiles tells Derek, grinning.
“I really don’t fucking care,” Derek calls back. “If you’re done before I get out, breakfast’s on me.”
Stiles pauses. “Pancakes?”
Derek just laughs.
“No, hey! Derek, pancakes are serious business! You can’t just throw temptation like that at me and then laugh it off! Derek!”
See, the thing is, Stiles never particularly wanted to get married and Derek has always been content knowing they love each other all the way to the moon and beyond. It works for them, the same way that Scott thrived on planning his and Allison’s wedding or the way Erica delighted in making everyone scared shitless when she and Boyd tied the knot.
Still. Derek finds pictures, old and frayed, tucked away into some archive or hole in the ground – Stiles honestly isn’t too sure where Derek finds them, she just knows he has them. Derek’s mom got married wearing leggings and a tunic. Privately, Stiles thinks Mrs Hale was insane, because she got married outside in the winter wearing a tunic and leggings.
Mr Hale was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. On the picture, it looks suspiciously like flannel. “Derek,” Stiles asks, “Were your parents hippies?”
Derek elects not to answer Stiles’ question. Instead, he raises an eyebrow. Stiles purses her lips in response, then shrugs. “Up to you,” she says. “I’m fine either way.”
Derek hums. “I think I want to,” he says. He’s tracing the photograph in his lap with his finger, outlining his mom’s figure, the obviously pregnant stomach distending her middle. From what Stiles understands, Derek’s parents wedding had been a very romantic affair under the light of a full moon in December. Derek had been five, Cora was a bump in their mom’s stomach and Laura had been the ringbearer. Stiles is sure it had all been sickeningly cute.
“Werewolf traditions, huh?”
Derek smiles. “Actually, I’m pretty sure my parents made it up. No one else ever got married like that.”
“We could,” Stiles says.
“Yeah.” Stiles grins and kisses Derek. “Maybe we could do it in the summer, though, so no one freezes their toes off.”
“Yeah,” Derek agrees, head ducked, adorable grin in place. “Maybe.”
They never tell anyone that they’re getting married, just invite everyone to come over for a late summer barbecue. Stiles figures it’s none of their business how she and Derek plan everything out. It’s their union and if she wants to have the ceremony in their garden, then that’s her business and no one else’s other than Derek’s. They’ve lived through two pack marriages and they were both suitably horrifying experiences. Not the ceremonies themselves, of course not, but all the planning that went underway, all the decisions and snide comments from pissed off relatives and, yeah. Stiles really doesn’t need more of that shit.
Stiles got to dress up in fancy tuxes on both occasions. In Erica’s case, Stiles is reasonably sure it was because Erica was annoyed with some relative or other, but in Scott’s case? Stiles grins. Scott’s her bro. They were seven years old when they shook hands on Stiles being his best man and vice-versa
The wedding/barbecue-thing isn’t ever meant to be a secret, but it kind of ends up being one. It isn’t a surprise to anyone that Scott and Allison end up marrying each other, but Stiles thinks most of them had expected Scott and Allison to go first, to be the first couple to officially dare venture into marriage and mortgage and kids.
It doesn’t quite happen that way.
(Of course it fucking doesn’t, this is Beacon Hills, remember?)
Stiles isn’t sure who’s most surprised when she comes into the kitchen of her apartment – the one she shares with Lydia because that’s the only way rent is manageable for Stiles – to find Cora hunched over the kitchen table. Actually, scratch that: Stiles is probably the only one who’s surprised because Cora most likely came here with the express intention of seeing Stiles. Add that to the fact that Cora is a werewolf and could likely hear the exact moment Stiles woke up, and the answer is rather straightforward.
“Uh, morning?” Stiles says, hiding a yawn behind one hand and trying in vain to flatten her hedgehog inspired bedhead with the other. “I thought you were in Portugal?”
“Does it look like I’m in Portugal?” Cora snaps and rolls her eyes. “Seriously, Stiles.”
Stiles crosses her arms over her chest and glares, okay, she sends Cora her stingiest of glares, because Stiles lives here and Cora doesn’t. “Lydia let you in?”
“I stole Derek’s key,” Cora says, because of course she did. Stiles actually isn’t that surprised.
Cora looks like she bit into a particularly sour lemon. “I need your help,” she says, and it’s right about then that Stiles figures out what the box on the table is.
“Oh,” Stiles says.
“I could fucking kill someone,” Cora bites out, glaring daggers at the box.
Stiles has a million comments she could say to that, but she swallows them down in favour of one question: “What happened?”
“I’ve never been on the pill in my life. I’m a werewolf: it doesn’t fucking work the same. I never needed to, ‘cause girls don’t— I’m not into guys.”
“This girl I was seeing, she… She was kind of having more than one relationship at the time? I mean, I knew about it from the get-go.”
“Because she told you or because you could smell it?”
“The first.” Cora clenches her hands into fists. “I’m into girls so much it’s ridiculous. But she was cute, you know? Smoky voice, big eyes, this awesome tattoo that covered most of her back.” Cora wets her lips, then looks at Stiles. “When she asked if I’d consider a threesome, I actually thought about it for more than a second.”
“We talked it out. I didn’t like him much, but he’s so in love with her it’s kind of sickening. Actually, I didn’t like it much at all. Like, sex with one person is complicated enough, but then you add this dude with a dick.” Cora shudders. “How can you deal with penises, Stiles? I laughed in his face when he whipped it out. They look ridiculous.”
“They kind of do, don’t they?” Stiles agrees with a small grin. “But honestly, some dildos out there look like torture implements.”
Cora’s eyes go wide for a second. “Oh, you have no idea. I’ve seen some weird stuff. I swear to god, this one girl I was dating had a horse dick dildo.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles says.
“I know,” Cora says, shuddering. “But, yeah.” She’s fingering the box, frowning.
“Did you have sex with him?”
“I told him if he even thought about putting his thing within touching distance of me, I’d chop it off.”
Stiles smiles, because that sounds exactly like Cora. “So what happened?”
Cora glares at the box. “My ex didn’t have the same fucking consideration with where she put her fucking fingers. I mean, it’s supposed to be impossible, right? But then I started reading about fucking sperm and how long it can live and shit. Like, fuck, I’m a werewolf, Stiles. I don’t know what to think anymore,” Cora says.
“I’m so late that I upgraded my return ticket from Portugal, ugh.” Cora buries her head in her hands, groaning, fingers fisted in her hair. “This shit isn’t supposed to happen. I’m gay, for fuck’s sake.”
Stiles doesn’t say anything to that, mostly because she isn’t sure what she could possibly say to that. Instead, she picks up the box and opens it. The instructions are fairly easy and straightforward, and she tells Cora exactly what to do when she stands up and grabs the stick out of Stiles’ hands.
Stiles doesn’t know what do to when she hears the sounds of something breaking in the bathroom, but she knocks on the door. “Cora?”
Cora rips the door open and throws the stick at Stiles, then slams the door shut again. Stiles kind of has the feeling that the results weren’t the results Cora wanted—
“Oh shit,” Stiles says. “Cora—”
“I fucking can’t right now,” Cora growls back. It sounds a little bit like she’s gripping the sink way too tight. “Shut up, Stiles.”
Stiles shuts up. She goes into the kitchen and she makes a huge batch of hot chocolate, then breaks out the ice-cream, the whipped-cream and the marshmallows just as Cora finally comes out of the bathroom.
“We’re not fucking celebrating,” Cora snaps.
“This is comfort food,” Stiles says. “Chips? I think we got some Doritos as well.”
Cora hesitates, but then she says, “Bring it.”
Stiles was meant to go shopping with her dad, buy groceries and clean the apartment because it was her turn. She doesn’t end up doing any of those things, because she spends the day in bed with Cora, eating crappy food and watching back-to-back episodes of Stargate SG-1.
“I never thought about kids,” Cora says.
“I know what you mean,” Stiles says. They’re spread out on the bed, heads just barely touching.
“Not really,” Stiles says. “And I resent that. Just because I like guys I automatically go around thinking I want kids? That’s bullshit, Cora. We’re both fully equipped with uteruses, but that doesn’t mean we go around thinking with them, or about them, or whatever. I mean, I’ve never thought about having kids once in my entire life.”
“Me neither,” Cora says. “I never thought— I like girls, Stiles, what do I know about this?”
“Cora, Derek’s the only person I’ve ever dated. I know literally less about this than you do.”
Cora frowns. “Really? Just Derek?”
Stiles nods. “I think he’s it for me,” she says.
Cora smiles. “I think you’re it for him, too, even if he’s too stubborn to say it.”
Stiles just grins, because by now she’s way more than familiar with Derek’s particular brand of stubbornness. It’s part of the reason she loves him so much, she’s pretty sure. “I think it boils down to what you want, Cora.”
Cora goes tense, then she rolls on her side and tucks her head into the nook of Stiles’ neck. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Do you want kids?”
Cora’s quiet for a long time, then she says, “I’m not opposed to the idea in theory. Like, in the distant future I might want to have kids that materialise out of nowhere. Do I want to be pregnant? No, I don’t think so. But, Stiles,” she whispers, “I can’t get rid family I don’t even have yet.”
“I know, I know, but… You can’t do this if it kills you a little inside every day. Nothing is worth that.”
It isn’t that Stiles forgets that she isn’t the only person living there, but she falls asleep with Cora curled into her and she wakes up when the door to her room opens. Derek’s standing there, eyes wide and face pale, and he’s clutching a box with a white-knuckled hand.
“Well, shit,” Stiles says.
“What— Why is there a pregnancy test on the floor in the hallway?”
“We don’t have sex, Stiles. Why is there— Who’s is it? Where’s Lydia?”
“Come to bed, Derek,” Stiles says. She doesn’t dare to move in case Cora wakes up and everything becomes weird and uncomfortable. Derek needs to calm down and he isn’t the person Cora should have that talk with and, anyway, Stiles isn’t the one who should say anything.
“Come to bed. It’s not mine, you know that. Now come here.”
“What’s going on?” Derek asks, but he’s at least started moving and Stiles pulls him down on the bed once he’s within safe tugging distance. “Stiles?”
“Not now, Derek,” Stiles says. “Come on, lay down so we can cuddle the shit out of each other.”
“Why’s my sister in bed with you?”
“Because we fell asleep watching Stargate. Can we have quiet time now? It’s early as fuck, man.”
The next time Stiles wakes up, Cora is sitting up in bed and staring at her brother. Derek is still asleep, but Stiles isn’t sure if he’ll be for much longer because there’s someone else in the doorway now. Stiles feels like groaning, but she supposes that out of all of them, Lydia at least has the right to be here whenever she wants because she does live here. Not that Derek needs a written invitation or anything, but, yeah.
“Well? Who needs moral support?” Lydia has her hands on her hips, a worried frown between her eyebrows. “Because this situation does not add up and the stick in the hallway sure as hell isn’t mine.”
Derek sits up at that, and the stare he sets on Cora is— Stiles isn’t sure what it is, but it’s a little bit heartbroken, a little bit hopeful and a lot of loving older brother. “Cora?”
“This shit is not supposed to happen to me!” Cora snaps.
Erica and Boyd’s marriage is a hectic affair. Mostly, Stiles muses, because Boyd and Erica both have a lot of relatives who all seem to think that their way of handling weddings and setting everything up is the right way. Stiles knows that Erica’s almost killed off most of those relative multiple times by now, and Stiles doesn’t blame her.
Can’t blame her, not when there have been snide looks and glares from relatives every time Stiles and Erica talk, when they discuss the ceremony and what role Stiles plays in the wedding itself. Erica tends to glare back and snap, while Stiles has done her best to ignore them – she’s a champ when it comes to ignoring. Then there’s the fact that Erica’s cousins and Boyd’s aunts all have tried to corner her with a bottle of hair remover at least once while attempting to talk her into wearing a dress at the wedding. It rubs them wrong, somehow, that Stiles runs around in loose-fitting tank tops and cargo shorts instead of skirts and summer dresses
Actually, it rubs most of the people who aren’t pack wrong. Stiles isn’t sure why, though (in fact, she’s pretty sure no one from the supernatural contingent in Beacon Hills knows why there’s a bee in everyone and their uncle’s bonnet).
It rubs them wrong that Stiles is the maid of honour. That she’s wearing a tux – a tux she had specifically tailored to suit her the best way possible (maybe that’s why people are glaring, who the fuck even knows?). It’s a little tighter than something she’d have picked out on her own, formfitting and slim, but it accentuates her body, highlighting her best qualities or some claptrap like that (the tailor had gone on and on, and Stiles had mostly stopped listening. Also, Derek was with her and watching as he got measured for his own tux had been much, much more interesting). Her bowtie is the most awesome of all the bowties to ever exist, bright in colour and the exact same shade as Allison and Lydia’s dresses, who are both wearing tiny, cutesy bowties as bracelets. Stiles thinks it’s kinda cool and Lydia looks weirdly smug over it.
Erica and Lydia had done most of the fashion-planning-thing on their own, without input from either Boyd’s aunts or Erica’s cousins. Stiles wonders if that’s another reason why people seem so frustrated, that Erica didn’t consult family – or, well, their definition of family – and went with friends – pack – over tradition or something stupid like that.
Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case, actually.
Scott and Allison’s wedding is like something out of a fairy tale. It’s outdoors and woodsy, Allison’s dress is light and flowing and flowery, Scott’s smile so wide his face threatens to break in two and Melissa’s constantly going around dabbing at her eyes.
Chris looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself and Stiles loses count of the times she catches him staring hopelessly at his daughter, like he has no idea how she grew up to be this badass, beautiful person. Dad’s the one running damage control between Chris and Melissa – if it wasn’t so hilarious, it would probably be just a tiny bit adorable that Dad is somehow close enough to both Melissa and Chris that he knows exactly how to handle them both to get them back on track for one of the most important days of their kids’ life.
Stiles walks on clouds the entire day, proud as can be. She’s Scott’s best man and you couldn’t pay her to stop smiling.
“Family,” Chris says, “Doesn’t end with blood.”
“No, really,” Stiles says, rolling her eyes. “Like, no shit, dude. Seriously, though, what’s up?”
Dad rubs a hand over his face, like he’s got no idea where Stiles got her personality from even though he’s guilty for at least eighty percent of it. At least. “Stiles,” Dad says, using his most longsuffering tone.
“Dad,” Stiles says evenly.
“I’m trying to tell you something important here.”
“And I’m listening,” Stiles says, “I’m totally listening, Dad, make no mistake about that, seriously: you can damn well believe I’m listening when you’re fumbling for words trying to tell me you’re in a polyamorous relationship with Melissa and Chris.”
“Jesus Christ,” Chris snaps, eyes a little wide. Stiles is pretty sure this is the first time she’s ever seen him shocked. Also, this situation proves, once again, that Melissa is seriously the best, because Melissa?
Melissa isn’t even pretending that she isn’t laughing. She’s got the chair in the corner and she’ leaned back against the wall, laughing so hard she’s crying. “Oh my god,” she gets out, “Oh my god, John, your kid is priceless.”
“We’re not having a threesome,” Dad finally says, rolling his eyes. “God, Stiles, really?”
Stiles throws her hands up in the air and rolls her eyes. “Well, let’s dive back in history and examine the last couple of times you were fumbling for words, okay? Okay, good. Let’s see, Exhibit A: That’s got to have been when you were trying to tell me about periods, right? Or was that when you were trying to tell me about boobs? Or asking if I’d started menstruating yet? If Melissa should take me bra shopping? Oh, wait, maybe it was when you were trying to—”
“All right, all right,” Dad snaps. “Enough, I get it.”
Stiles narrows her eyes. “Do you, Dad? Do you really?”
Dad puts a hand over his eyes, then says, “What I was trying to tell you before your very colourful interruption, is that I’m selling the house.”
Stiles sits back, heart aching a little because—
Mom bought this house. Mom and Dad bought it, and they decorated together, made a home for themselves, a home for them to share together, a home for Stiles.
“Oh,” Stiles says.
Dad nods, bites at his lip and looks away. “It’s time, I’m ready. It’s a big house for one person, kid.”
“Lots of shadows?” Stiles guesses.
“It’s full of memories,” Dad agrees. “Anyway, the three of us—” Dad makes a sweeping gesture at himself, Chris and Melissa— “We got to talking about our situations – financial, living status, that sort of thing. Melissa’s got a big house. There’s enough room for three adults – three single adults, Stiles.”
“That’s…” Stiles trails off. “Okay, that makes sense. I just…”
With a cheeky grin, Stiles says, “You do know there’s nothing wrong with polyamorous relationships, right? I mean, I’d support you, Dad, one hundred percent. All in for happy parents, that’s me.”
Dad groans a little, tries to hide a smile behind a hands. “That’s good to know, Stiles, really. Thank you, I’m so glad for your support.”
Later, Stiles corners Chris and stares him down to the best of her ability. “Stiles,” Chris says, tone even and gaze amused.
“Shut up,” Stiles says. “This is important, okay?”
Stiles narrows her eyes. “Sam or Dean?” she asks.
Raising an eyebrow, Chris says, “I was always more of a Bobby person.”
Chris inclines his head in acknowledgement. “You?”
“Dean, hands down. You don’t mess around with cheekbones like that.”
They invite everyone over for a barbecue and don’t tell anyone that in this instance “barbecue” is code for “come watch us get married in a ceremony we made up from scratch using five year old Derek’s memories.” It works out surprisingly well: Deaton is the only one who knows, because they needed someone to perform the actual ceremony and as the unofficial emissary, he seemed like a good enough choice.
Okay, no, Deaton isn’t legally allowed to officiate weddings, but it’s not like shit like that matters. They’ve already done the deed, signed the papers at City Hall, bribed the people there with cake to keep quiet, but this is how they want their wedding to be. Just pack, just family – a happy occasion, without anyone tearing their hair out due to stress.
Derek is wearing a familiar v-neck and Stiles was wearing shoes at some point, but she’s been barefoot for at least half an hour by the time she and Derek stand up to “make a speech.”
“Look,” Stiles says. “I’m sure my dad’s been dreaming about walking me to the altar since I was in diapers, but since he’s also my dad he knows damn well I’m never gonna sign up for archaic and sexist rituals that undermine my self-worth as a person.”
Dad laughs and Melissa high-fives him.
“What Stiles is saying is that we’re getting married,” Derek says, rolling his eyes.
“What he said,” Stiles quips, then leans down over the table and snags up the flower crown she put there earlier. It looks good on Derek, she thinks as she settles it on his head, the pink fairy roses small enough not to look stupid and the lavender delicate enough to frame them. The wreath Derek puts on her head is as identical as homemade flower arrangements ever get, but Stiles is pretty sure no flower crowns have ever been as perfect or awesome as these two.
“Shall we get started, then?” Deaton says as he stands up, and that’s pretty much when the rest of the people – their pack and their friends and family – catch on to the fact that this isn’t an engagement announcement.
“I love you,” Stiles says when she puts the ring on Derek’s finger.
Derek grins and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when he says, “I know,” back. It’s pretty much perfect even if Stiles is never going to let Derek forget that he gave her what has to rate as the number one Star Wars moment. Stiles just laughs, though, then watches as Derek puts a hand in his pocket, then pauses, smirking or still grinning, Stiles can’t tell – seriously, when did the world get so fucking blurry? “What have I got in my pocket?” Derek asks.
“Shut up, you’re not—”
Derek kisses her, then murmurs, “At least my precious is right here. I don’t intend to ever lose you, Stiles.”
“I hate you so much,” Stiles says.
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” Stiles agrees. She watches, her heart pounding and dancing in her chest, as Derek slides the ring on her finger. The ring fits perfectly, of course: Stiles knew it would, because they went to get rings together, spent a whole day in San Francisco just trying to find something they both liked. It’s not a gold ring, which is Derek’s only saving grace right now, Stiles swears, for daring to be impossibly perfect on today of all days. “You’re not doing this to me,” Stiles mutters.
“You wouldn’t want me any other way.”
“Lies and slander.”
“I can’t believe you got married in jeans,” Lydia says later, rolling her eyes.
“What? I rock these babies.”
“Stiles.” Lydia smiles, patting Stiles on the shoulder. “Don’t ever change.”
Scott bumps her fist and gives her the hug to out-hug all the other hugs. It’s so huggy that other hugs are looking on in jealousy from the side-lines, okay? It’s the hug of hugs.
Dad looks suspiciously like he’s been crying – Chris and Melissa both look a bit too smug, even if Melissa’s dabbing a little at her eyes – and he gives Stiles a long hug, then kisses her on the forehead.
“Mom would’ve been proud,” Dad says and it makes Stiles choke up. “You’re so— You’re the best kid a dad could ask for, okay? I’m so proud, so happy for you right now I can’t even—”
“It’s okay, Dad,” Stiles says, voice maybe a little wobbly, starting up a new hug. “Thanks. I— We didn’t tell anyone because the last couple of weddings were so stressful and we just wanted to do something happy and fun, you know? Like, focus on the best bits and skip all the hassle.”
Dad laughs. “Where’s Derek, then?”
“Cora’s kicking his ass for not telling her and making her miss out on being his maid of honour. Apparently she made him swear she’d get to walk him down the aisle when she was, like, five or something?”
Stiles finds Dad with Leandra on his hip, talking to Derek and Cora. Derek is glowing with quiet contentment, Cora’s leaning against him, smiling, and Dad’s laughing.
Leandra was a happy baby, and right now she’s an overly curious toddler, getting her sticky little hands everywhere. She’s quiet, which Stiles is starting to think is a Hale trait, studious at turns, playful at others. She’s the first baby of the pack, but Stiles is pretty sure she won’t be the only kid for very long.
It’s nothing that Scott’s said, or that Erica’s hinted at. It’s that Boyd’s finally got a stable job, isn’t torn between three different workplaces anymore, that Erica’s been working since she got her A.A a couple of years back. That kind of security gives you stability, gives you hope for the future and an ability to focus on the now. It’s that Allison has one year of grad school left, Stiles knows, just as she knows that Scott’s been working fulltime since they were twenty-two. Stiles thinks they’re all financially stable enough now that if anyone of them wants to have a kid, it’s definitely within the realms of possibility.
Right now, though, everything’s pretty damn perfect. Yeah, she thinks, catching Derek’s sunny grin with a blinding smile with one of her own, going breathless all over again at the happiness in Derek’s eyes, with the unfamiliar weight of metal around her ring finger, the matching glint on Derek’s hand, at the small crinkles by his eyes. Yeah, she thinks, everything’s pretty damn perfect right now.