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It’s a perfectly reasonable plan.
Derek needs an heir of his own blood to strengthen the position of their pack. He doesn’t have a mate and doesn’t date. He doesn’t want to use a stranger as a surrogate.
Stiles is the only unmated omega in the pack. And he’s already the pack’s emissary. He’s a perfect choice for a surrogate.
Feelings? There are no feelings. It’s all strictly business. Anything that might seem like feelings is just the pack bond manifesting. Obviously.
Stiles is definitely not in denial.
*
“That was the last of it,” Stiles says and sets the box containing a wild mix of stuff of personal value on the so far uncluttered desk.
He turns towards Derek hovering in the doorway.
“Thanks for lending your werewolf muscles to the moving cause,” Stiles says with a manic grin in an attempt to dissipate a bit of the awkwardness, feeding it more instead.
“No problem,” Derek utters, folding his arms across his chest.
“I guess I better start unpacking,” Stiles says and dives for the nearest box of clothes.
“If you need anything, just… call for me,” Derek says, already backing away.
“Sure thing!” Stiles nods, watching Derek leave and close the door.
He collapses on the bed right after, burying his head into the clothes piled in the box and letting out a quiet groan.
This is going to be a disaster.
*
“Ow,” Stiles lets out a quiet moan, pressing a freshly filled hot water bottle to his lower belly.
He’s been warned that the first few ovulations after stopping birth control can hurt more than usual, but he hoped it wouldn’t be his case. No such luck then.
“Ow,” he moans again, bending forward and propping his free hand on the counter as a particularly vicious cramp attacks his reproductive system.
He’s perfectly on schedule. He moved into Derek’s flat two weeks ago to give himself enough time to settle in before his first heat would hit. He doubts he’ll manage to conceive on the first try as his body is a hormonal war zone freshly after coming off his pills, but they’ll be trying anyway. Not like Stiles would want to go through a full blown heat without an alpha soothing his need. His ovulation cramps would be a pinprick of discomfort in comparison.
He pushes away from the counter, determined to make it to his bed where he can curl around the blissful heat of the water bottle under his lovely weighted blanket.
“Ah!” He gasps out, barely halfway through the living room, feeling as if someone stabbed him in his underbelly.
It’s only a few steps to the couch, so he stumbles to it instead and sits down, then slumps to the side, keeping his legs hanging off, fearing that pulling them up would prompt another cramp.
He doesn’t know how long he lies there, groaning into the cushions, his mind drifting in a half-asleep state, but it can’t be too long because the water bottle is still warm when Derek crouches in front of the couch, waking him by a gentle squeeze to his shoulder.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Derek whispers, caressing Stiles's face, probably checking for fever.
Stiles shakes his head.
“Don’t wanna move.”
“It’s too cold out here,” Derek says, his hand traveling down his arm, then moving to his calf and down to his foot, so amazingly warm against his chilled skin.
“It hurts,” Stiles complains, blaming his exhaustion on how needy he sounds.
“I know. And I can help,” Derek says, sliding his hand under Stiles's T-shirt to reach the bare skin just above his hip bone.
The pain flows away and Stiles moans in relief. He melts against the cushions, his mind hazy and unfocused. He’s barely conscious of being moved, then lifted and carried, settled down onto a mattress and covered by his blanket.
Last thing he’s aware of before he drifts off to deep sleep is the warmth of Derek’s palm settling over his lower belly.
*
‘It’s just the heat,’ Stiles thinks to himself for what must be the thousandth time as Derek clutches him close, mouths at the skin of his neck, murmurs sweet words of praise into his ear, his cock spurting yet another round of cum into Stiles's channel while his stuttering shallow thrusts drag his knot over Stiles's prostate.
Stiles shudders through another orgasm, the urgent pressure of nearing release dissolving for the moment, but the build-up begins almost right away, and he’s not sure if he wants to sob in pleasure or beg for a moment of respite.
He comes again before picking any of the options, reaching a conclusion that Derek’s cock must be magic.
*
Not pregnant.
He’s not surprised that’s what the test shows. Part of him is disappointed that they didn’t succeed right away. Another part of him is relieved that he has more time to get used to the idea of a baby growing in his body. The horny part of him is happy that he’ll get to spend another heat with Derek.
After two nights spent wrapped in Derek’s tight embrace, feeling safe and cared for, his brain producing all the feel-good love hormones, falling asleep alone was like plunging into a lake in the middle of winter.
Since then he’s spent hours each night tossing and turning, sleep evading him while his mind replays bits and pieces of their coupling, making him groan in utter mortification at the memories of everything that made it past his lips while he was lost in his need. His traitorous body doesn’t care about the embarrassment though. It craves attention. He rubs himself off against the soft sheets each night, one of his toys buried in his hole, his face pressed into the pillow to muffle the gasps of pleasure and soft sighs of Derek’s name.
*
“What is wrong with the two of you?” Scott asks in a whisper while Derek is occupied in the kitchen, making several batches of popcorn for the pack’s monthly movie night following a pack meeting.
“What? Nothing’s wrong,” Stiles says, frowning at him.
“You haven’t said a single snarky thing to him during the entire meeting,” Scott says.
“And Derek kept leaning closer to you until he caught himself doing it and pulled away,” Isaac chimes in.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Stiles scoffs at the weird accusations.
“He did it at least ten times,” Kira adds.
“When Jackson threatened to eviscerate you if you ever dared to touch his car I thought he’d totally wolf out,” Scott says, everyone else nodding along in agreement.
“He needs me to carry his child. Can’t do that if I’m dead, that’s all,” Stiles says with a shrug.
They look at him as if he’s an utter idiot.
“What? That’s what this is. I’m just a convenient walking incubator,” Stiles says just as Derek enters the room with the first two bowls of popcorn.
The pack scatters to their usual places, utterly failing at looking inconspicuous. Stiles turns to Derek, ready to just grin and roll his eyes to bridge the awkwardness of the moment, but Derek doesn’t look his way, his expression unreadable, before he dashes back into the kitchen for the rest of the snacks.
A ball of nervous energy settles in Stiles's stomach. He feels like he’s fucked up somehow.
“What was that then?” Scott mouths in Stiles's direction, gesturing towards the kitchen.
What was that indeed?
*
“Why do you have a brochure about commercial surrogacy lying around?” Stiles asks, frowning at the pamphlet lying on the kitchen island.
Derek turns away from unpacking their takeaway and leans against the counter, folding his arms in front of his chest.
“I don’t want to push you to do something you might regret later,” Derek says.
“Regret? What are you talking about?” Stiles asks, bewildered.
“Your value to…” Derek pauses, his posture going even more stiff than before. “You shouldn’t think that your reproductive system is the most important thing you have to offer to this pack.”
“I know that.”
“My child shouldn’t be just a burden for you,” Derek continues without acknowledging Stiles's words. “I think it’s better if we don’t follow through with this arrangement.”
“Oh no, you’re not doing this,” Stiles says after a few moments of speechlessness and sets off towards Derek. “It’s going to be our child, not your child.” He jabs a finger into Derek’s unfairly firm abs to drive his point home. “You’d want to pass on the opportunity to combine our genes? Our kids will be perfect, do you hear? Perfect!”
“We could still do that and use the surrogate to…”
“No.” Stiles clamps his hand over Derek’s mouth. “I’m supposed to be the one spouting nonsense. Don’t try to steal my act! I want to carry our baby, and I will carry our baby. Is that clear?”
Derek nods and Stiles takes it as a signal to remove his hand.
He resolutely ignores the warmth spreading through his chest as his brain catches up to his own words.
*
This time when his ovulation hits, Derek brings him to his own bed, holds him close as he draws the pain away.
*
‘Heat sex shouldn’t be this tender,’ Stiles thinks, his mind floating in a pleasurable haze, all his senses overwhelmed by Derek’s presence.
He feels Derek’s body moving above him and inside him. He hears his labored breathing and bitten off moans. He tastes the sweat gathered on their bodies. He smells the alpha pheromones permeating the air. He sees Derek’s eyes drinking him in as if he’s something to be cherished.
He lets himself believe it. Just for a little while.
He drags Derek closer, his weight on top of him a blanket of comfort. He pulls him in deeper, sobbing from how good it feels.
Derek doesn’t let go.
*
Even though this is the planned outcome of their actions, Stiles's head spins a little when he sees the positive test result. He drops his head between his knees, glad that he stayed sitting on the closed toilet lid, and stares at the test stick dangling from his fingers, at the life changing two lines it carries.
*
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kira asks during their next movie night. “You look really pale.”
He has to swallow down the queasy feeling brought on by the waft of bacon popcorn as Scott trades it for a cheese flavored one, the bowls getting passed right in front of him.
“Morning sickness sadly hasn’t been limiting itself to mornings,” he says, trying for a grin but most likely delivering some kind of a tired grimace.
*
“This can’t be normal,” Derek says, helping Stiles to his feet after he emptied the watery contents of his stomach into a toilet bowl for the tenth time that day.
“It’ll get better,” Stiles mutters, but he’s not sure he trusts his own words anymore.
His legs feel shaky. He’s so cold and tired. Tears well up in his eyes. He’s had enough of this misery. He turns away from the basin when he’s done rinsing out his mouth and pretty much collapses against Derek’s chest, wrapping his arms loosely around his torso.
After a few moments of initial surprise, Derek relaxes into his hold and hugs him back, one of his hands running up and down Stiles's back.
When he realizes that Stiles has no intention of moving ever again, Derek picks him up and carries him to the living room. He sets him down on the couch, props him up against a pile of pillows and leaves for the kitchen, ignoring the pathetic attempt at complaint Stiles’s body allows him to make.
He’s back in a minute, stirring some kind of a brown coloured liquid with a spoon.
“I’m not drinking any suspicious magical potions,” Stiles grumbles as Derek manhandles him into a new position once more, squeezing himself in between the pillows and Stiles.
“It’s just coke,” Derek says, his voice dripping with amusement. “I don’t think getting rid of gas counts as magic.”
“Flat coke’s gross,” Stiles says, wrinkling his nose.
“It can do wonders for settling an upset stomach,” Derek says, picking the glass up and offering it to him. “Come on. Just try a few spoonfuls.”
Reluctantly he does. His stomach doesn’t turn so he considers that a win. Surprisingly, he even likes the taste.
“Have you been reading up on home remedies for human ailments?” Stiles asks as Derek sets the coke aside.
“You’re not the only one capable of research,” Derek says and turns the TV on a documentary channel, the volume loud enough for werewolves to hear while serving as an indistinct background noise for humans. “Try to get some rest.”
Stiles watches the nature presented on screen, soaking up Derek’s warmth. Shiver runs down his spine when Derek settles his hand on his belly.
For a few moments, everything is perfect in the bubble of their existence.
*
“I can’t believe you couldn’t keep anything down just a week ago,” Derek says, clearly judging Stiles’s dinner choices.
“You have no right to comment,” Stiles says, fishing out a piece of peanut butter cup from the tub of ice cream. “You got so worried you nearly took me to the hospital. You should be happy that I can eat.”
“Curly fries, bacon, and peanut butter cup ice cream though?”
“It’s so good,” Stiles moans, taking his time dipping a curly fry in the half melted ice cream.
Derek doesn’t look convinced.
*
“Here it says that it should be possible to hear the baby’s heartbeat by now,” Stiles says, glancing up from his book on pregnancy.
“It is,” Derek says as if it’s no news at all. “I’ve been able to hear it for about two weeks now?”
“Are you serious?” Stiles asks, putting the book aside. “And you couldn’t have shared that tidbit of knowledge with me?”
“You wouldn’t be able to hear it,” Derek says. “The ultrasound appointment is still weeks away even now.”
“You know, you could always listen closer to the source,” Stiles offers shamelessly.
He’s been feeling a bit touch starved lately and this could be his chance to ease that particular ache just a bit. He expects Derek to decline, but instead he crosses the room and joins Stiles on the couch. He squeezes himself next to Stiles’s legs, pushes Stiles’s T-shirt up to get to the bare skin underneath and presses his ear to Stiles’s so far only mildly distended belly.
“What does it sound like?” Stiles asks after a while, hyper aware of all points of contact between their bodies, willing himself to not give in to his horniness right now.
Derek shifts to look up at him, his hand settling on Stiles’s thigh, not helping Stiles’s fight in the least.
“It’s fast and surprisingly strong,” Derek says. “It changes a bit every single day as the baby grows.”
Derek’s thumb is caressing Stiles’s inner thigh and Stiles feels the warmth of arousal spreading through his nether regions. Oh no. His cock is getting hard. There’s zero chance those track pants will be able to hide that.
Derek’s hand moves higher up his thigh and Stiles’s hole clenches around nothing, all wet and ready to be fucked open. Stiles is about ready to die of mortification.
“Derek,” he whines instead when Derek’s palm begins kneading his fully hard cock.
Derek pulls away, breaking all contact between them.
“Oh god, I’m so so… oof,” Stiles gets interrupted in the middle of his frantic apology as Derek pulls him closer by his legs, nudges him to spread his thighs so that he can kneel between them and leans over him to pull every single pillow from under him and toss them to the ground, leaving Stiles lying flat on the couch cushions.
“May I?” Derek asks, his fingers ghosting over the waistband of his pants.
“Now you’re asking?” Stiles asks, breathless with need.
Derek raises his eyebrows, dipping the tips of his fingers just under the elastic, pleasure tingling through Stiles’s nerve endings even from this barely there touch.
“Go on,” Stiles provides his consent, and Derek doesn’t waste any more time, freeing him from his track pants and boxer briefs both.
He expects Derek to undress then too, but he doesn’t move from where he kneels. He runs his hands along Stiles’s outer thighs, then up his sides and down around the small baby bump. He avoids the areas that crave his touch the most and traces patterns along Stiles’s inner thighs.
Stiles grips the sides of the cushions, head thrown back. He’s pretty sure he’s going to lose his mind. His grip tightens as Derek finally guides two of his fingers to Stiles’s opening, circling it for a few maddeningly long seconds, and sinks them inside.
Without the heat clouding his senses, every single sensation feels crisp and new, and he loses himself in the intensity of the experience. Nothing but Derek’s hands in him and on him matters in that moment.
He complains when the fingers suddenly withdraw, but it takes just a few heartbeats before he can feel the head of Derek’s cock nudging at his entrance, then pressing in, stretching the tight ring of muscle open, stimulating the inner walls of his channel in a way no toy ever could.
Derek doesn’t try to last, coming in a few short minutes, his knot expanding, bringing the most delicious ache that makes Stiles lose control of his last two active brain cells, his movements growing erratic as he desperately tries to ride the wave of acute bliss and reach the relief of release.
He tugs at his cock in time with the tiny shifts of Derek’s knot pressed against his prostate, repeated mantra of ‘please’ spilling from his lips.
He stops breathing when he comes. The pleasure slams through his body, overwhelming in its purity. With the first breath sucked in, the orgasmic contractions set in, the size of the knot trapped inside him prompting more and more of them, making it feel like his orgasm will never end.
When he finally regains his higher brain functions, his body heavy and unresponsive after the onslaught of sensations, he becomes fully aware of Derek’s arms wrapped around his torso, keeping him upright. His mind fails to remember the moment when he was lifted into a seated position. Harsh breaths wash over Stiles’s throat as Derek’s cock fills Stiles with more cum.
‘What the hell just happened’, Stiles’s brain, finally free of the dumbing effects of horniness, supplies.
*
Stiles expects their coexistence in the shared space to become awkward and result in complete avoidance of the subject, and subsequently each other. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
Somehow sex becomes a regular part of their daily life. Together with Derek spending long stretches of time nuzzling his belly and listening for the baby’s movements and heartbeat.
They don’t talk about the sudden change. There isn’t much to talk about anyway. It’s just a matter of convenience after all.
*
It happens suddenly without any warning, without any obvious trigger.
He stands up from the couch, wanting to get yogurt from the fridge. The food gets forgotten half way through the room as he feels a sharp stab of pain in his lower belly, followed by a wave of cold sweat traveling over his body.
“Something’s wrong,” he says to the empty room.
He’s afraid to move. He thinks he feels some sort of liquid leaving his body and he reaches down to his crotch. His fingers come away stained red.
“Oh god,” Stiles breathes out, fear fully settling in.
He looks around frantically, spotting his phone on the coffee table. It seems so far and he doesn’t want to move, but he has to. The pain doesn’t get worse, but he can feel more blood gushing out of him as he moves.
He grabs the phone, ready to dial when he can hear Derek entering the flat.
“Derek!” he calls out, the terror in his voice bringing Derek into the room and to his side at a run.
“What’s wrong?” he asks straight away. “Where are you hurt?”
“It’s the baby,” Stiles sobs out.
He’s getting dizzy, his vision graying around the edges. He reaches towards Derek for support, his knees going weak under him. Derek catches him before he can even begin to fall, holding him against his body.
“I don’t feel good,” Stiles slurs, his grasp on reality slipping through his fingers.
“No, you need to stay awake,” Derek says, his tone urgent.
Everything goes weirdly fuzzy after that. The world tilts, sounds get distorted, the light muted. His mind drifts in a haze, and he has a feeling there’s something important he should be dealing with right now, but he can’t remember what it is.
“Don’t you dare die on me!” Derek’s voice penetrates the fog and he blinks his eyes open to a very distressed looking Derek with a phone pressed to his ear.
“He’s awake right now,” he’s saying to whoever is on the end of that line, “but I’m not sure he’ll stay that way.”
Stiles feels so tired. He lets his eyes fall closed.
“No, Stiles, listen to me!” There are hands touching his face, then gripping his shoulders and shaking him.
He drifts off back into the haziness.
*
He wakes up right before they load him into the ambulance. There’s an oxygen mask covering half his face and an IV line stuck on the inside of his left elbow, delivering some sort of clear liquid into his body. He’s covered by a light blanket from his chest down.
For a moment he panics when the doors to the ambulance close, but then Derek steps into his line of vision and holds his hand, not letting go during the entire ride, answering any questions the paramedic asks.
*
Even though they’re not actually mates, they are treated as such. They get a private room with a bed big enough for two and Derek is allowed to accompany him to all the examinations too. He’s a steady presence at his side, holding Stiles’s hand as the doctor runs the ultrasound probe over his belly, then slides a different one inside him to scan from a different angle. He silently endures Stiles digging his nails into his palm as the speculum stretches him open for the doctor to take a look inside.
They say he’s suffering from a placental abruption.
In the ideal case he’ll make it through the rest of the pregnancy just fine. In a less ideal case the baby will have to be delivered early. In the worst case scenario both him and the baby might die.
They keep him on strict bed rest. Derek helps him with everything from handing him things to bathroom trips and washing. At first Stiles worries he’ll die of shame, but somehow it all feels perfectly natural, comforting even.
Members of the pack take turns visiting them each day, Scott being the first to arrive just a few hours after Stiles was admitted, bringing a duffel bag full of stuff Derek asked him to pack for them.
They stay an hour or two, chatting away to help pass the time and give Derek space to leave the hospital for a while and vent his pent up anxious energy through a run in the nearby forest and then to shower afterwards.
It took nearly an hour of convincing to get him to leave Stiles’s side the first time, but later that night he grudgingly admitted that they were right to force him to go.
Derek sleeps next to him each night, though by the looks of him he spends more of it watching over him than actually sleeping. He’s very careful with his touches, mostly just resting his palm against the swell of Stiles’s seventh month belly. He keeps dozing off during the day. Sometimes while trying to read a book, other times when working on his laptop or playing some puzzle game on his phone. Usually Stiles follows his example. He sets whichever object Derek was using aside, shifts closer and lets the sound of Derek’s even breaths lull him to sleep.
*
“I should have been more careful with you,” Derek says out of the blue on their seventh evening in the hospital, looking particularly worn out and vulnerable.
They had a bit of a scare that day with the bleeding returning. Thankfully it was much weaker and didn’t last long, but it was still a frightening experience for them both.
“What do you mean?” Stiles asks, covering Derek’s hand resting on his belly with his own.
“I wasn’t particularly gentle the night before it happened,” Derek mumbles, shifting their hands to chase the baby’s movement.
“You weren’t rough either,” Stiles says, remembering their last intercourse.
Derek’s hand hot between his shoulder blades pressing his chest down into the mattress. Stiles’s arse sticking up in the air, his toes curling in pleasure as Derek pounded into him. Derek’s knot expanding as he reached his peak, milking several hands free orgasms from Stiles who could do nothing but moan under the onslaught of undiluted bliss.
“Nothing hurt that night,” Stiles says, sliding his hand up along Derek’s wrist, his thumb caressing the softer skin on the underside of his forearm. “You made me feel incredibly good in fact.”
“Still…”
“And with the bed rest meaning you won’t be able to fuck me or even just make me come for the rest of the pregnancy, I’m really glad I have that memory to come back to,” Stiles steamrolls over Derek’s attempt to blame himself, prompting a brief chuckle to burst past Derek’s lips.
“Sometimes I wonder why I love you,” he says, his expression sleepy and soft and completely unguarded.
A shuddering gasp makes its way out of Stiles’s lungs, his lips staying parted as he wonders if this is all just a dream.
“Oh…” Derek whispers, panic seeping into his expression.
Not a dream then.
Stiles tightens his hold on Derek’s wrist when he feels him trying to pull away.
“Don’t you dare ruin the moment by doing something stupid like jumping out of the window,” Stiles rambles out, ever the romantic himself.
He uses the grip on Derek’s arm to pull him closer, meeting him halfway, pressing his lips to Derek’s in the most chaste, most uncomfortable form of kiss ever possible.
When Derek pulls him flush against his body as much as the bump of Stiles’s belly allows and tilts his head for a better angle, the kiss is neither chaste nor uncomfortable. It’s utterly perfect.
*
“Damn,” Lydia’s voice pulls their attention away from their unhurried sweet kisses, a movie playing completely forgotten in the background. “Couldn’t you have waited another two days? I had my bet on the next week!”
*
After sixteen days Stiles is allowed to leave the hospital.
He’s instructed to remain on strict bed rest for the remaining weeks of his pregnancy which Derek will make sure of, continuing his care in the same capacity as he did in the hospital.
Stiles is glad to be home, the familiar surroundings keeping him distracted from the danger of his medical status. Stiles’s back appreciates how comfortable Derek’s mattress is. It does wonders to lessen his frequent backaches.
They get into the habit of sleeping naked which wasn’t really an option during the hospital stay. They can’t have sex of course, but cuddling feels so good when it’s skin on skin contact everywhere. They both still get aroused and sometimes they touch each other, using gentle pressure and unhurried movements, the pleasure drawn out and very different from the usual urgency of chasing the orgasm.
A few times they struggle to not give in to the need for more, breathing hard as they force themselves to stay still and let the build-up of arousal fade. Derek could come as many times as he’d like, but he’s restricting himself in solidarity with Stiles’s plight, making Stiles love him even more.
*
“I don’t think those are Braxton-Hicks,” Derek says, watching Stiles breathe through yet another contraction, worry in his eyes. “Should I get the bag?”
Stiles doesn’t want to leave the comfort of his home just yet, but they can’t take any risks.
“Yeah, we should go,” he says, his voice far from steady.
*
The labor is progressing just as it should. The ultrasound check went well, the doctor clearing him for a normal delivery. His contractions have been regular for hours, growing in intensity.
Derek helps him change positions, supports him through the waves of pain, careful about not draining away too much as that could slow down or even stop the progress of labor. He keeps whispering apologies for not being able to take more.
*
Stiles groans in agony, a particularly vicious contraction tearing through him, joined by a powerful urge to push.
“Good, let it pass. Don’t push yet,” the midwife says, just like many times before.
“I can’t…” he moans, pressing his face into Derek’s chest, fully slumping into his hold. “I need to push.”
The last word turns into a cry as another contraction hits.
“Just a few more minutes. You’re doing so well,” the midwife says.
“I have you,” Derek murmurs just for him to hear. “I love you.” He presses a kiss into Stiles’s hair.
“Push with the next contraction,” the midwife says after three more agonizing cycles of fighting his body’s instincts.
Pushing brings a new type of pain, but the relief of finally giving in to the urge is immense.
“You can do it,” Derek says, his own face a grimace of pain.
He must be taking slightly more of Stiles’s pain now when the labor is fully underway, the contractions mere minutes apart. Stiles lifts up into a more active kneel each time he pushes, his fingers digging into Derek’s sides, then slumps back down and forward, letting Derek take his weight and run his hands up and down Stiles’s back or into his hair.
The time passes and his energy reserves begin to dwindle. He wonders if he’ll ever be free of this hell.
“Give us one big push once you feel the urge,” the midwife says and he wants to reply that he doesn’t have any big pushes in store, but talking takes too much energy.
He tries to do as instructed, pushing as hard as he can, shaking with the effort. Then twice more, soaking in Derek’s words of praise and encouragement.
Something seems to give, the pressure in his insides changing.
“That was the head,” the midwife confirms right after.
“Almost there,” Derek says, holding him tighter so that he doesn’t slump as low as before.
The baby slips out of his body with the next contraction, the room filling with its cries a few seconds later. Stiles’s limbs turn into jelly, the relief nearly instant. Derek shifts from kneeling to sitting and helps Stiles turn around and rest propped against his chest.
“Allow me to introduce you to your baby daughter,” the midwife says with a smile and places her on his chest, then covers them both with a light blanket.
“Oh my god,” Stiles breathes out, his eyes filling with tears. “She’s so tiny.”
“She’s perfect,” Derek says, his voice brimming with emotions, and slides his hand under the blanket, placing it on their daughter’s back, his fingers intertwining with Stiles's.
*
Three years later
“No, Soph, cushions aren’t for chewing!” Stiles pulls their daughter away from their already battered couch.
Thankfully she gets easily distracted, giggling as Stiles lifts her into his arms and kisses her on the tip of her nose. He fetches her favorite dinosaur shaped chew toy and sets her free once more, hoping their furniture will be safe for a few minutes at least.
“This second teething period is simply brutal. How did anything in your home survive after three werewolf kids growing up there?”
“It didn’t,” Derek says with a grin. “At least half of our furniture got replaced once all of us passed the age of 5.”
“Ah, well. At least I don’t feel like such a terrible parent anymore.”
He picks up a piece of paper he got ready earlier in the day, handing it over to Derek.
“Add this to our next grocery shopping, please.”
“Okay, I’ll grab it tomorrow,” Derek says, his eyes skimming over the three items on the list, and pins the paper to their fridge with a strawberry shaped magnet.
Stiles leans against the kitchen counter, giving Derek’s brain a little more time to catch up.
“Wait, what was on that list?” Derek asks, coming back to the fridge.
‘There we go,’ Stiles thinks.
“Curly fries. Bacon. Peanut butter cups ice cream,” Derek reads out loud this time. “Does this mean…?” he lets the question hang in the air, unfinished, looking Stiles’s way.
Stiles nods, his smile growing brighter.
Derek rushes over, lifts him off his feet and kisses him breathless. Once he sets him back down, he drops to his knees, pushes Stiles’s T-shirt up, kisses him right above his belly button and presses his ear over the same place even though it’s too soon to hear the heartbeat, even with werewolf hearing.
*
Their perfectly reasonable plan might have turned out to be rather unreasonable, but Stiles couldn’t be happier with the results of that particular failure.