Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The door barely had time to swing open before Stiles stormed in, already mid-sentence.

All restless energy and sharp gestures, he made a beeline for the couch, backpack hanging off one shoulder like it had taken a beating just on the walk from the car. His hair was a mess from anxious fingers, his amber eyes lit with frustration.

Scott followed at a more measured pace, though that wasn’t saying much. His face was a blend of tired patience and the resigned amusement of someone who’d been listening to this same rant for miles.

Derek, seated on the far end of the loft near the bookshelf, didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. The energy in the room had already changed. It always did when Stiles showed up.

It was stupid how quickly he noticed. How easily the sound of Stiles’ voice curved around his heart, something almost warm. Something almost allowed.

“Okay,” Stiles was saying, flopping dramatically onto the couch, arms spread as though he’d been personally wronged by fate itself, “so I may have slightly exaggerated my romantic situation to my cousin. In that I said I was seeing someone. And now I need someone to be seeing, or I’ll have to fake a tragic breakup and claim lingering trauma to avoid the pity table at the reception.”

Scott shot Derek a look, jaw set, holding back whatever he really wanted to say.

Derek ignored it.

“It’s fine,” Stiles continued, “I’ll just go solo and sit next to Great-Aunt Margaret while she whispers unsolicited prayers into her rum punch and tries to set me up with my childhood orthodontist’s daughter again. What’s her name? Kelsey? Carly? Whatever. She thought a werewolf was a kind of niche dog breed, so—no.”

Scott coughed into his fist. Loudly. Then glanced back at Derek again.

He didn’t move.

“I just—ugh!” Stiles groaned, throwing a pillow across the room. “I don’t need someone to love me. I need someone to stand next to me and lie convincingly and maybe hold my hand during the slow dance if I look emotionally unstable enough.”

Scott shot him another look, this one closer to a glare. His eyes flicked briefly toward Stiles with a small, deliberate nod, then back to Derek with a stare that clearly said: Are you seriously just going to sit there?

Stiles kept going, oblivious. “I’m not asking for much. Just a warm body and a little dignity. I’m looking more for the boyish type, y’know? I need a fake boyfriend. A placeholder. A human meat-shield with decent bone structure.”

Derek’s jaw clenched, his fingers tightening just slightly around the edge of the book, though he still wouldn’t meet their eyes.

Stiles didn’t mean him. Of course not. Even if some delusional part of Derek wanted to believe it. He wasn’t the type people faked relationships with. Hell, the last few real ones hadn’t exactly ended without blood or betrayal.

Scott’s gaze sharpened, flicking between them, weighing something unsaid. Finally, he muttered, “You know what would be crazy? If there was someone here. Right now. In this room. Who could do that.”

Stiles blinked hard, caught off guard. “What?”

Scott shrugged, voice too quick and light. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

Derek exhaled slowly, then snapped the book shut a little harder than he intended.

Stiles sat up. “Wait, do you know someone?”

Scott raised an eyebrow in Derek’s direction, a silent I cannot help you more than this.

And Derek—stupid, self-destructive Derek—said nothing.

Not yet.

Because if he said it out loud, it might sound like hope. And hope was dangerous. Hope meant thinking he deserved something soft. Something safe. Something like Stiles.

Stiles stood with a huff, crossing the room in two sharp strides and planting himself directly in front of Scott. “What do you know that I don’t? I complained for hours over this, Scotty, now suddenly you’ve got it all figured out?”

Scott held his hands up, all innocence, as if he hadn’t spent the last five minutes trying to telepathically shove Derek off the couch and into Stiles’ orbit. “I’m just saying,” Scott replied evenly, “the answer could be closer than you think.”

Stiles squinted at him. “What, like… a dating app? You downloaded one of those sketchy hookup apps again, didn’t you? Because I swear to god if you try to set me up with another ‘mysterious body builder,’ I will scream.”

“No!” Scott said quickly, eyes wide. Then, more pointedly, not looking at Derek, “Just think for a second. Maybe the person you’re looking for is already here.”

Derek could feel it. The weight of it. The shift in the air as Stiles turned slightly, only slightly, but enough for his gaze to flick briefly in Derek’s direction.

And just like that, Derek’s pulse jumped.

Scott was going to kill him. Or worse, Stiles would keep talking, edging toward something Derek had spent years trying not to want.

Stiles scoffed. “Please. If I had a secret boyfriend tucked away somewhere in this dusty, emotionally repressed loft, I think I’d know about it.”

Derek didn’t flinch. Didn’t look up. Just kept his jaw tight and his eyes locked on a spot on the floor.

Scott, now fully exasperated, let out a strangled noise somewhere between a groan and a cry for help.

“Okay,” he said, and clapped Stiles on the shoulder a little too hard. “Why don’t you just sit for a second and think about literally everything you’ve said in the last few minutes. I’m gonna order some pizza. Or walk into traffic. One of those.”

He gave Derek one last fierce look as he passed. It wasn’t subtle anymore. It was more of a threat.

Stiles shifted awkwardly from foot to foot before dropping onto the couch with a dramatic lack of coordination. He sprawled like gravity worked differently for him, elbows and knees everywhere, hoodie riding up at his lower back.

He peeked up at Derek from under those ridiculous eyelashes, eyes warm and wide and too bright for the dim loft light.

Pretty. That was the word. Pretty and shining and soft in all the ways Derek had never let himself reach for.

Yeah, he was a goner.

Derek grumbled something under his breath, low and unintelligible. His muscles tensed before he moved, bracing for impact. Then, he slowly stood and crossed the room. Every step felt too visible, too deliberate, but he squared his shoulders anyway. 

Stiles’ eyes followed him the entire way, head tilted, gaze curious in a way that felt almost appreciative. Not mocking. Not confused. Just… open.

Maybe, Derek thought, maybe I can actually do this.

He didn’t know the last time he broke a sweat, but he could feel it now, hot and slow down the length of his spine. His hands twitched forward before he could stop them, gesturing vaguely in Stiles’ direction as his mouth opened, dry, uncertain, already ready for rejection.

And… Nothing came out. He froze.

Just stood there, staring at Stiles, who blinked up at him with a furrow in his brow like he wasn’t sure if Derek was about to speak or explode.

Derek didn’t know either. All he could think was: Don’t ruin it. Don’t make it weird. Don’t want too much.

From the kitchen, he heard Scott swear, just under his breath but loud enough for Derek’s ears to catch. “Fuck, Derek, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Derek let his eyes close for a moment. He deserved that.

Stiles tilted his head, brow rising, voice light. “What’s Scott on about, man?”

Derek opened his mouth again. Closed it. Tried not to wear the expression of a man actively dying. “Nothing,” he said, too quickly.

Stiles didn’t look convinced. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, studying him with the focus of someone working out a puzzle.

“Are you sure? Because he only makes that face when you’re being a ‘broody coward with communication issues,’ his words, not mine. Though, I mean. Fair.”

Derek didn’t respond. Mostly because he couldn’t.

Not without admitting that yes, he had been about to ask Stiles if he wanted a date to the wedding. That yes, he wanted it to be real. That yes, he was terrified, because when he wanted something, it usually meant losing it. Or ruining it. Or bleeding for it.

Stiles kept watching him, eyes a little softer now, the edge of the teasing falling away. And Derek just stood there, silent, completely undone.

Then Stiles sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I think it’d be cool if someone asked me or whatever,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, but not quietly enough to miss.

Derek’s heart stuttered. It was right there. The window. The invitation. Wide open and waiting.

He breathed in, a gulp that felt big enough to take the whole room with it, and then, fast and sudden, the words tumbled out, “I’ll go!”

Stiles startled, every line of his body giving away the sudden shock. “What?”

Derek’s ears were hot. He cleared his throat and tried again, a little slower this time. “To the wedding. I’ll go with you.”

He forced himself to meet Stiles’ eyes, even though it felt like standing on the edge of something with no ground in sight. “If you still need someone when it comes up.”

There was a long beat of silence.

“Oh my god, finally,” Scott muttered, dropping something with a crash and letting out a sigh of exhausted relief.

But Stiles…

Stiles just looked at him, eyes round, lips parted, his brain struggling to reboot.

“Wait, seriously?” he asked, voice a little breathless. “You you? Not some cousin of yours or a body double or something?”

Derek couldn’t help the small, crooked pull at the corner of his mouth. “Me me.”

Stiles blinked rapidly and grinned, big and bright, like someone had handed him the moon in a to-go box.

“Okay,” he said, nodding quickly, as if locking it in fast enough might stop the universe from taking it back. “Yeah. Yeah, cool. Great. That’s… perfect, actually.”

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Derek’s chest eased. Just a little. Maybe he could actually do this without it falling apart. Without wrecking everything.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks leading up to the wedding were, to put it lightly, chaotic for Derek.

It began one morning at seven a.m., mid-workout, shirt damp with sweat, music low in his earbuds, the world still quiet and manageable—until Stiles blew into the loft like a hurricane in tight jeans and a hoodie, keys jingling in one hand, a coffee in the other, and zero respect for boundaries.

“Rise and shine, Sourwolf!” Stiles called, as if Derek hadn’t explicitly threatened bodily harm the last time he used that nickname. “Get your grumpy ass up. We’re late!”

Derek didn’t move. He was halfway through a set of push-ups, chest burning, heartbeat still thudding from exertion, and now apparently ambushed. “For what?” he grunted, not bothering to look up.

“Breakfast with the nearlyweds,” Stiles said, matter-of-fact. “It’s bonding time. You’re part of the story now, which means you’re part of the chaos. You need a shower. Look like someone people would believe I’m dating. And wear those black jeans. The ones with the rips at the knees. They make your ass look good.”

Derek froze halfway through a push-up.

Then he moved, quicker than he meant to, brushing past Stiles without a word and heading straight for the shower. Not because his face was burning. Behind him, he could practically feel Stiles grinning.

Derek wasn’t known for taking orders. Especially not when he had zero interest in whatever was happening. But here he was, letting Stiles grip his bicep and pull him along, their steps nearly synced, their bodies close enough they might as well have been walking as one.

The café was all warm wood, hanging plants, and soft jazz. It was one of those annoyingly cozy places Stiles definitely didn’t pick at random. Derek hardly stepped inside before Stiles was tugging him through the door as though they were running late to something important, which, apparently, they were.

She was already at the table when they arrived. Derek recognized her instantly from the photos. Bright smile, warm hazel eyes, and the same sharp jawline that marked the Stilinski bloodline. Stiles’ cousin, Lily. 

She spotted them and took off at a near run, crashing into Stiles with a hug that almost knocked him backward. She was practically vibrating with energy in a sundress the color of peaches, her hair twisted up in a clip like she’d thrown it in at the last second and hoped for the best.

She caught Derek’s eye. “You must be Derek!” Her voice was lilting, way too loud for the quiet corner booth. Without missing a beat, she shoved Stiles back and grabbed both of Derek’s hands as if they were old friends finally reunited.

Something soft settled in his chest. A quiet warmth that reminded him of Sunday afternoons with his family, the way their laughter had wrapped around him in an embrace. The memory was both a comfort and a weight, a reminder of everything he had lost and why he still hesitated to reach for anything good.

Derek blinked. “Hi.”

She didn’t let go. “I feel like I know you already,” she beamed. “Stiles has been gushing about you for years.”

There was a beat of silence so sharp it could’ve split a table leg. Stiles made a sound like he’d just swallowed a fork. “Lily.”

Derek turned his head slightly, just enough to catch Stiles’ expression—horrified, frozen mid-smile, as if someone had just read his browser history out loud in church.

Lily didn’t notice. Or maybe she did and chose violence anyway.

“I mean,” she continued brightly, finally releasing his hands and waving them toward the table, “he used to bring you up all the time. ‘Derek this, Derek that,’ when you weren’t dating each other. We were all waiting for it to happen. Honestly? Took you guys long enough.”

Derek sat because it felt safer than remaining upright. His knees didn’t trust the room anymore. He couldn’t quite look at Stiles. Not when his brain was still stuck on the word gushing. Not when something fragile and warm was cracking open in his chest.

Stiles slid into the booth beside him with the stiff, overly casual grace of a man trying to crawl out of his own skin. “So,” he said, voice too high, too fast, “breakfast, huh? Let’s eat. Food is great. We love food. Derek eats food like a champ.”

Lily gave them both a slow, knowing smile and picked up her menu. “You guys are adorable. Seriously.”

Derek finally let himself glance at Stiles. He was red. Glowing, really, in that overexposed way he always got when his own feelings ran too fast to catch. His eyes darted down to the table, lips parted, fighting for control of the conversation.

And Derek—quiet, stunned, heart a little too loud in his chest—was kind of in awe. He didn’t know what to do with the fact that Stiles had talked about him. That maybe this hadn’t started as a lie at all.

It was a feeling both exhilarating and terrifying. A flicker of hope that maybe he could have something real, something that didn’t end in loss. 

But the voice in his head whispered reminders of why that hope was a lie people like him should know better than to believe in. Why he wasn’t the kind of person who deserved love, or happiness, or second chances.

So he just sat there, letting the hum of the café drift around them, trying to memorize the shape of this moment. 

The bell above the front door jingled then, and Lily lit up again. “There he is!” Lily exclaimed, already half out of her seat.

A tall man stepped into view, dressed in pressed slacks and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. His skin was warm brown, his beard neatly trimmed, and he wore the kind of easy smile that made people instinctively sit up straighter without knowing why. His eyes swept the room until they landed on Lily.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized as he crossed the floor with quiet confidence. “Your mom called. Again. I had to swear three times we’re not secretly eloping.”

“Oh my goodness, we’re never going to hear the end of that joke,” Lily groaned, stepping into his space to kiss his cheek. “You must’ve sounded suspicious trying to hang up.”

He leaned down and kissed her back, quick and familiar, then turned toward the table with a crooked smile.

“Mason,” Lily announced, looping her arm through her fiancé’s as she gestured toward the booth, “this is the Derek.”

His eyes sharpened with interest. “Ah,” he nodded, offering a hand. “The one who puts up with Stiles.”

Derek took it, raising a brow. “I could say the same about you.”

Mason laughed, easy and genuine. “Can’t argue with that.”

Stiles leaned over to bump Mason’s outstretched fist and muttered, “Hey. Rude to insult the guy at the table, thanks,” sinking a little lower in his seat.

“We insult you with love,” Lily said sweetly.

“With depth,” Mason added. “And frequency.”

Derek found himself smiling, just a little. Something in him started to loosen. Maybe it was the banter, or just the fact that Lily and Mason were real. People who teased and kissed and planned a future without hesitation.

It made something hopeful take root in his chest.

They scooted in, passed around menus, and talked about pancakes, mimosa specials, and whether the napkins Lily picked out last week clashed with the centerpieces.

She gestured wildly while she explained a crisis about ribbon colors; Mason corrected her with calm assurance that made Derek think he was used to Lily’s madness.

Stiles slowly started to relax beside him, foot bumping his under the table like it was a habit he hadn’t meant to break. Just like that, the moment passed, but it left something behind. Something steady. Something good.

And Derek, still listening, still watching, couldn’t stop thinking about it. About what Lily had said.

“Stiles has been gushing about you for years.”

Chapter Text

The next time things got uncomfortable, Derek didn’t even see it coming.

One minute, he was standing at the edge of the studio, mentally cataloging every possible exit, and the next, Stiles was gripping his hand and dragging him toward the polished hardwood floor under too-bright lighting.

He’d survived battles, full moons, and ambushes from hunters, but dancing? This was a whole new kind of threat.

Their feet collided immediately. Stiles stomped on his foot with the enthusiasm of someone charging into war. “Okay, yeah,” he muttered, brow furrowed as he squinted toward the instructor at the front of the room, “we’re definitely faking our way through this.”

Derek grunted, mostly in pain, but also in agreement.

The instructor clapped once, crisp and expectant. “Couples, face each other. Now, one, two, three—turn!”

Stiles spun the wrong way with the chaotic confidence of someone who absolutely meant to do that. He nearly collided with Derek’s chest, stumbled sideways, and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, “Nailed it.”

Derek didn’t think. He just grabbed him by the hips, fingers digging in with an ease that felt too familiar. As though some part of him had been waiting for the excuse.

He didn’t let go. And Stiles didn’t seem to mind.

If Derek had to admit it, if he dared, he was starving for this kind of contact. The rough, utilitarian touches that came with being a werewolf didn’t satisfy him. Neither did the bruising hits in sparring or the quick, practical catches mid-hunt.

What he wanted was something softer. Something that stayed.

The instructor’s voice rose over the music, eyes fixed on Stiles. “Again, again! Find your rhythm.”

Stiles’ fingers brushed his arm as they settled into something resembling a starting position. Then one hand slid around his back, hesitating briefly before resting at his waist. Derek could feel the warmth of his palm even through the fabric of his shirt. It pulled at something inside him he hadn’t realized had been aching.

“If I don’t learn how to dance,” Stiles complained, eyes big and ridiculous, “I’m gonna be the family joke forever. And not the funny kind. The tragic kind. The one they bring up every Thanksgiving until I die.”

Derek stared at him. That was becoming a pattern.

He considered himself graceful. Being a werewolf helped with that. But grace didn’t matter when his brain stalled every time Stiles touched him. Every brush of skin sent a flare through his chest that made it harder to think, harder to breathe.

Derek tried. He really did. But Stiles moved like a natural disaster. An enthusiastic, over-committed disaster. He laughed through every misstep, counted out loud like it helped, and never hesitated to close the space between them.

When the tempo shifted, Stiles adjusted quickly, sliding his arm across Derek’s shoulders. His grin was crooked and shameless. His eyes danced.

Derek missed a step.

Not because he couldn’t follow, but because Stiles kept looking at him between counts. Lips parted, eyes narrowed with a serious intensity, as if he was about to say something devastating and sincere. Derek didn’t know how to survive that.

Stiles’ face was flushed, the overhead lights tracing the angles of his cheekbones and the defined line of his jaw. His eyes went wide, full of something Derek couldn’t quite place. Fear? Determination? Maybe both. Either way, it made Derek’s chest tighten.

Then Stiles tripped. Or maybe Derek stepped wrong again. Their rhythm cracked and momentum tilted. Stiles reached out, not for Derek’s hand, but just his fingers, barely hooking them. Not enough to catch himself, but enough to say: I know you will.

Derek caught him. Of course he did. Without hesitation, he closed the gap, pressing his body into Stiles’ and pulling him flush against his chest until their breaths tangled.

Stiles laughed, bright and unguarded, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Derek was doomed.

By the time the lesson ended, Derek stepped back as though the floor had turned to fire beneath his feet. Not because he was tired, but because the air felt thin and sharp in his chest, and he couldn’t quite fill his lungs.

Stiles was still laughing, cheeks pink, breath uneven. He hadn’t let go of Derek’s hand. And Derek couldn’t pull away. Not yet. His throat tightened, and his pulse thudded at the point where their palms met.

The couple beside them passed by, their shoes perfectly matched and smiles bright. She wore a ridiculously huge ring that caught the light every time she moved, and he wore a shirt that said “Fiancé Mode: Activated.”

“You two are adorable,” she spoke, cheerful and sincere. “Honestly, we were watching you the whole time. You just have such a great vibe.”

“Right?” he added. “So in sync, even when you’re messing up. That’s real chemistry.”

Heat crawled up Derek’s neck. He didn’t know what his face looked like, only that it wasn’t the expression he meant to wear.

Stiles grinned, ducked his head, and shrugged, “I’m an organized mess, but he’s got fast reflexes.”

The hum of the studio blurred to background static, every detail falling away but the shape of Stiles’ hand in his. How natural it felt. How risky that was.

Because it didn’t feel like pretending anymore. Not when complete strangers looked at them and saw something real. Not when Stiles kept closing the space between them like it was already his to cross.

Not when Derek’s instinct, the one that used to tell him to brace and retreat, had shifted into something quieter. Something he didn’t want to let go of.

That was the part that scared him.

This kind of happiness—light, uncomplicated, full of accidental laughter and reckless touches—never seemed to last. Not for him. It always burned too bright, too fast, until there was nothing left but ash.

He could already feel the fear threading through his chest, slow and familiar, warning him not to get too comfortable. Not to hope.

Because wanting this meant opening a door he’d kept sealed for years. It meant risking the inevitable fall. Derek wasn’t sure what would be left of him if he shattered again.

But Stiles glanced up, smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth, and gave his hand a small, quiet squeeze.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just a simple, wordless gesture. Gentle, steadying, and full of intent. Like he knew exactly what Derek was feeling and wasn’t going to let him face it alone.

Chapter Text

Derek hadn’t even wiped the sleep from his eyes when the knock came. It was fast, heavy, echoing through the quiet with purpose. Not polite. Not patient. Whoever was outside wanted to be inside, whether he answered or not.

He opened the door to find Stiles standing there, a bookbag slung over one shoulder, grinning as if he’d just won the lottery. “Afternoon,” Stiles said, like it was the start of a perfectly normal day.

Derek gave a tired glance at the clock. “It’s not even nine.”

Stiles stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, dropping the bag by the couch. “Yeah, well, I’m here now. No take backs.”

Before Derek could protest, Stiles was already rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, pulling out mismatched mugs and somehow producing a half-empty bag of coffee grounds.

He scooped some grounds into the filter, then filled the kettle at the sink, muttering about people who run late and how greatness thrives on last-minute decisions.

Derek tried to cut in. “Late to what?”

Stiles glanced over at him and gave a playful shrug. “You’ll find out soon enough.

Then, without warning, Stiles spun on his heels and shoved Derek’s shoulders, the sudden push almost knocking him off balance as Stiles steered him toward the bedroom. “Get dressed, man. Need me to help you, or can you manage solo?”

Derek jerked back slightly, caught off guard and a little flustered. Help? he thought. Only if it’s with taking my clothes off.

Suddenly more awake, he straightened up and moved quicker than he expected, pulling on jeans and a shirt without overthinking it.

“Look at you, all motivated,” Stiles called from the kitchen. “It’s like I’m your personal trainer. Only with aggressively bad humor.”

When Derek stepped back into the room, the smell of fresh coffee hit him. It was warm and rich, with something unmistakably burnt mixed in.

Stiles tossed him a travel mug and a piece of toast so blackened it could’ve passed as charcoal. “Breakfast of champions,” he winked. “Didn’t seem smart to start the day full of sugar.”

Derek caught the mug and stared at the toast. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at it, then at Stiles, who beamed as if it was a five-star meal.

Stiles cocked his head with a hint of challenge. “You can eat it, or use it to smack me when I get on your nerves.”

Derek didn’t answer, but the corners of his mouth twitched in spite of himself. Stiles moved fast, always a step ahead, still talking. He crouched by his bag, yanked out a wrinkled flannel, and shrugged it on without bothering to fix the sleeves.

No explanations, no questions, just Stiles already grabbing the keys and halfway out the door before Derek had fully caught up.

By the time Derek made it outside, Stiles was already in the driver’s seat of Roscoe, bouncing with excitement. He ran his hands over the dash, full of absurd affection, murmuring something to her under his breath.

The ride was a blur of engine noise, wild turns, and Stiles talking nonstop. Derek caught bits and pieces of it. Something about cake, something about Lily.

At one point, Stiles yelled, “This isn’t kidnapping, it’s community service,” taking a corner hard enough that Derek grabbed the handle above the door to brace himself.

Stiles threw Roscoe into park, killed the engine, and jumped out as though he hadn’t just barely kept the Jeep on the road. “Come on. She practically bribed me to drag you to this thing. I think there’s a gift card involved.”

Derek climbed out slowly, his eyes flicking toward the building. “You told me we weren’t even in the wedding.”

“We’re not. We’re ‘special guests,’ which basically means we do everything short of walking down the aisle.” Stiles smirked at him across the hood. “Besides, I told her you might flake. She said, and I quote, ‘If Derek ditches, I’ll just bake a sad little cake in his honor and cry into it.’”

Derek didn’t say anything. Mostly because he still wasn’t sure what the hell they were doing here.

The bakery was loud. Not just from the crowd, but from the color. The walls were mint green and coral pink, streamers hung from the ceiling, and three different playlists were fighting it out. A long table at the center was covered in tiny cake slices, forks sticking out at odd angles, like a dessert graveyard.

Derek blinked. Once. Then again, slower. “What is this.”

“Cake tasting,” Stiles answered cheerfully, tugging him deeper inside. “Duh.”

“I thought this was a private appointment.”

“Oh, it is.” Stiles grinned. “Private meaning all of Lily and Mason’s friends, plus me, you, and that one girl from college who somehow always crashes the party even though she’s not invited.”

Lily saw them and lit up instantly, waving with both hands. She darted through the crowd with the kind of happy urgency that showed this was the moment she’d been looking forward to.

“There you are!” she cried, throwing her arms around Stiles. “You’re twenty minutes late! I was about five seconds away from slapping your face on a milk carton.”

“I brought Derek,” Stiles wheezed as she hugged him harder. “That should count for something.”

Lily pulled back just enough to beam at him, then turned and wrapped her arms around Derek.

“You! I was hoping you’d come. I told Mason you’d be here and he said I might’ve scared you off. But I knew. I knew.”

“You saw me a few days ago,” Derek replied quietly, unsure how to respond.

“Yeah, and it was the highlight of my month,” she giggled, pulling back to look at him like she might frame his face. “I meant it when I said you have calming forest energy. Like, a wolf who judges in silence but also brings snacks.”

Stiles stifled a cough behind his fist, trying not to laugh. “You made an impression, apparently.”

Derek exhaled through his nose, a small breath that didn’t quite hide the discomfort.

She doesn’t know I’m actually a werewolf… right? he tried to remind himself, though he wasn’t entirely convinced.

Mason wandered over from the table, offering Derek a handshake. “Glad you survived the ambush. She’s been going on about lemon sponge cake and matching group flannels since the crack of dawn.”

Stiles reappeared at his side before Derek could think of a reply, holding out a fork with something pale and sticky on it. “Here. You’re legally required to try this one. Mason’s mom says it’s the almond-honey miracle that could’ve saved her last marriage.”

Derek took a bite without protest. The sweetness hit intense and thick at the back of his tongue, flooding his senses in a way his wolf wasn’t used to. It was almost overwhelming, but he swallowed it down for Stiles’ sake.

Stiles was already running for another sample, talking with bubbling excitement as he swung the fork around. There was laughter near the back, someone shouting for a refill on champagne they’d definitely snuck in, and the faint clink of silverware as the tasting went on.

Derek lingered a moment longer, the noise and color swirling around him like a storm he hadn’t asked to be part of. His shoulders started to tense under the weight of unfamiliar faces, the echo of old losses whispering that he shouldn’t be here.

Maybe Stiles was humoring Lily, Mason tolerating him because he had to.

Then Stiles glanced back over his shoulder. Their eyes met for a brief second before he stepped closer and held out his hand—an open, simple gesture that carried more weight than words.

His eyes held something steady, silently saying: You’re here. You’re okay. I’ve got you.

Mason gave Derek an encouraging wave. Lily joined in, her smile big and bright, motioning him over.

That quiet warmth stirred something in Derek. It felt like he had a place to stand. It wasn’t a promise or a certainty, just a little reminder that he wasn’t entirely on his own.

Something soft and stubborn pressed at the edges of his chest. Not quite hope, but close enough. He stepped forward and took Stiles’ hand.

Chapter Text

The weeks started blending together for Derek.

He loved having Stiles back from college. That part wasn’t new. They’d always spent time together when he was in town. Pack obligations, movie nights, the occasional stakeout that ended with greasy fast food and the familiar back-and-forth bickering that always seemed to make the hours fly by. 

But this was different.

Now Stiles was just there, more often than not. He showed up without warning, walking through the door before Derek could even think to text him. He raided the fridge with a kind of casual ownership, fingers rifling through leftovers as if the place was already his second home. 

He’d collapse onto Derek’s couch, eyes fluttering shut halfway through a documentary he’d insisted they watch, his breathing slowing, the faint rise and fall of his chest syncing with the glow of the screen.

And Derek let him. Every time.

At first, it felt temporary. Like Stiles was still just visiting, hovering the space without ever fully landing. But little things started to shift. He stopped making excuses when he stayed too late. He started picking up takeout for two without asking, grumbling about Derek’s lack of variety but always knowing exactly what he wanted.

After all, they were pack. Every year, they drifted a little closer, drawn together by a pull neither could resist. Still, every time Stiles made himself comfortable for the night, Derek pushed down a weight in his chest that whispered this closeness wasn’t meant for him.

Memories flickered, reminders of what he’d lost, what he hadn’t saved, and the walls he’d built to keep it all at bay.

It started small: Stiles’ favorite red hoodie, carelessly draped over the back of the couch. Derek caught himself pausing before folding it up, acknowledging a quiet claim Stiles was making. 

Then came the socks—mismatched, kicked off and forgotten on the floor, proof of someone lost to sleep, utterly at ease in a space Derek had never imagined sharing so fully.

Other things began appearing: a Batman mug left on the kitchen counter, a half-used notebook with scribbled thoughts abandoned on Derek’s desk, a stray pair of sneakers tucked awkwardly by the door. Each object tracing the expansion of Stiles’ presence in Derek’s life.

He’d never opened the medicine cabinet and gone completely still at the sight of a second toothbrush, blue and crooked against the cup, squeezed in as if it had claimed its spot long ago. The bristles were worn unevenly, telling silent stories of mornings and nights Derek hadn’t been part of until now.

He didn’t touch it. Didn’t mention it. He closed the door and stared at his reflection for a long time, heartbeat loud behind his ribs.

Later, he found Stiles on the couch, hunched over the coffee table with his laptop open and a crumpled sheet of paper in one hand. His hair was a tousled mess, his mouth moving silently as he went over the names again, probably for the fifth time.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, softer than he meant to.

Stiles didn’t look up. “Lily’s seating chart. She asked me to help finalize the table groups before the weekend. Which I thought would be easy, but apparently our cousin Sarah can’t sit near her ex unless we want tears in the appetizer course.”

He muttered something under his breath and erased another name, only to write it back in the exact same place.

Derek didn’t answer. Just leaned against the wall and watched. He noticed the way Stiles’ mouth twitched when something clicked, how his pen tapped absently against the edge of the paper, and how one foot bounced in a distracted rhythm against the floor.

The loft didn’t feel empty anymore. It felt like him.

“Are you judging me right now?” Stiles challenged, grinning up at him with a flash of teeth.

“No,” Derek said, too quickly.

The sun hit just right, making Stiles’ eyes look almost golden for a moment, warm and bright in a way that caught Derek off guard. “You totally are,” he teased.

Derek glanced away, trying to collect himself. He wasn’t judging. He was just trying not to feel too much.

He let out a heavy sigh and plopped down next to Stiles, letting their shoulders brush. Their knees stayed touching. He didn’t move away. Neither did Stiles.

The contact was casual on the surface, easy to dismiss. But Derek felt every point of heat, a steady hum beneath his skin.

Stiles tapped his pen against the paper again, pretending like nothing had shifted. As if Derek wasn’t close enough to hear the faint, rapid beat of his heart. “You’re not helping,” Stiles muttered, mock-annoyed.

“I wasn’t invited to,” Derek replied, almost smiling.

“You’re literally my fake boyfriend. You’re required to suffer through at least some of this with me.”

The word boyfriend hit Derek in a way he hadn’t expected. His throat tightened, his breath catching for a moment. He blinked, not sure what to say. Finally, he let out a small huff. “Fine. What’s the issue now?”

Stiles passed him the paper, and their fingers brushed. He pointed at the middle of the page. “Table five’s a disaster. Aunt Margaret still won’t talk to Uncle Victor after the casserole incident. There was smoke and screaming. Plus, one of my little cousins tried to bite the flower girl at the last party, so that’s a no-go.”

Derek squinted at the chaotic web of crossed-out names and arrows. “Seems like everyone’s the problem.”

Stiles gave a brief, weary laugh before mumbling, “Yeah. Kinda looks like we’re the only ones not a problem.”

Derek met his eyes. The smile had faded, replaced by a gentle intensity as Stiles watched from under lowered lashes, his voice soft and careful, caught somewhere between a joke and the truth.

And Derek felt it. That slow, reckless tug in his chest. The way the air between them seemed to thicken, the moment was holding its breath with him.

For a moment, Derek’s defenses wavered. The walls he’d built, so carefully, began to crumble.

He wanted to lean in. To whisper something unguarded, something raw. To tell Stiles how badly he wanted him. That he wanted to press their mouths together and lose himself in it. Let it all crash down.

The loft door slammed open so hard it rattled on the hinges.

“Why am I just now finding out you two are fake dating?” Erica’s voice was laced with disbelief and delight as she stepped fully into the room. “And why does it already feel like you’re bad at it?”

Derek jolted upright. Stiles jumped beside him, clutching his laptop as a shield. Their knees now sat inches apart, but distance couldn’t erase the heat between them.

Erica marched up without hesitation, eyes flicking between the two of them, already knowing exactly what they’d been doing—or were about to do.

And then she grinned. Big and wide. Mischief practically pouring off her. “Aww,” she cooed, hands on her hips. “I’m glad I get to witness the phase where you’re the only idiots still pretending it’s fake.”

Stiles made a strangled sound. “That’s… That’s not—”

Derek stared straight ahead, jaw clenched so tight it was a miracle he didn’t crack a molar.

Behind her, Isaac snorted as he entered with Allison and Boyd in tow. “Damn, she beat me to it. I wanted to be the one to witness it up close and personal.”

Allison scoffed softly. “Wait, pretend? I thought we were all just being polite not to mention it.”

Scott appeared next, balancing a few bags of takeout. “We brought food. And please stop falling in love in the common spaces.”

Malia walked beside him, arms full of drinks already sweating through the cardboard. “Yeah. You’re making Boyd uncomfortable.”

She didn’t glance at Derek as she grumbled, “And me. He’s my cousin. This is weird.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Boyd said, reaching to take the trays from her arms. His voice was even, maybe a little pointed, as he added, “You can relax.”

Derek grunted under his breath. Relax. Sure.

He wanted to shrink away, disappear into the shadows where no one could pry. But instead, his body stiffened, protective, and stubborn, ready to guard Stiles from their judgments. 

Lydia breezed past them in a perfectly tailored coat, her heels clicking in sharp punctuation. She set her bag down with practiced grace, her eyes darting to where Stiles was inching closer, leaning back into Derek. “Well, clearly the act’s been getting harder to keep up.”

Jackson tipped his head back with an exaggerated groan. “The unresolved tension in here has vibes, and not the good kind. It’s like watching the slowest car crash in emotional history.”

Stiles sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, wow, thanks for the group therapy session, everyone. Really appreciate the notes.”

Derek kept his gaze fixed forward, tuning out the voices, the jokes, the noise. It didn’t matter. The only thing he could hear was the space where Stiles’ laugh had been, the pulse that hadn’t slowed down.

Peter arrived last, already sipping a beer as though he’d paid good money for front-row seats. He took one look at Derek and Stiles, still frozen on the couch, and let out a low, amused hum.

“Ah,” he drawled, tilting his head. “My favorite genre: repressed pining and public denial. Classic.”

Derek didn’t say a word. Stiles didn’t either. They just sat there, the tension hanging between them like the echo of a missed kiss.

And Erica, smug as hell, tossed herself into the chair opposite, her smirk reminding him of a kid who had just found the last cookie in the jar. “We’ll give you two space. After dinner. If you’re lucky.”

They didn’t leave. They passed out a few hours into a movie he couldn’t care less about, left scattered across the loft in varying degrees of sleep.

Someone had knocked over a half-empty drink earlier; the faint scent of soda still hung in the air. A soft snore drifted from somewhere beside him, followed by the rustle of someone settling under a blanket that hadn’t been there when the night started. 

Derek stayed where he was, watching shadows shift across the floor as the screen flickered dimly in the distance. The sound was muffled, mostly forgotten.

He should’ve felt annoyed. Cramped. Inconvenienced.

Instead, it was… nice.

The kind of night he’d never imagined having. Not back when all he could picture was blood and fire. Not when he thought this kind of quiet wasn’t made for people like him.

But it wasn’t the silence that caught him. Not really.

It was Stiles.

Curled in on himself at the far end of the couch, hoodie bunched at his side, fingers loosely tangled in the hem as if he was still mid-rant even in sleep. His breathing had evened out, mouth slack, lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks. He looked small. Folded tight, waiting to be put back together.

Derek’s chest ached. He wanted to move closer. Just a few inches. Just enough to let their legs touch again. To let Stiles lean, if he needed to. To hold him. Not for show. Not because they were pretending. Because he wanted to.

He told himself it was enough. That Stiles looked peaceful. That getting closer might break whatever hush had settled between them. But his body had already made a choice his mind hadn’t caught up to. His knee angled slightly toward Stiles, shoulder dipping to lean in.

Stiles shifted then, curling tighter. A sound left him, not quite a word, not quite a dream.

Derek swallowed hard, the moment catching in his throat. Maybe next time, he wouldn’t hesitate.

Chapter Text

Derek hadn’t been to a wedding since before the fire. Back then, they didn’t just go to weddings—they hosted them.

The Hale House was where people got married. Wide backyard, tall trees, enough space to shift or scream or spill drinks without anyone batting an eye. His mother used to say, “If there’s going to be a wedding, it’s going to be here. That way, it starts with the pack.”

Preparations always started early. His mom handed out to-do lists like they were military orders. Laura would pretend to roll her eyes, but she lived for it. She always took over the music, ran point on décor, and had a plan ready.

Cora picked fights over tablecloth colors just to get out of wrapping silverware. And Derek? He’d haul chairs around until someone bribed him into lifting the kegs, spiked just enough to hit a werewolf’s system.

The cousins were always there, weaving between legs and shouting over each other, someone crying over a torn dress. 

Arguments broke out over string lights and things got burned in the oven. Laughter spilled too loud, feet danced until they were sore. Cakes were sneaked before the couple even had a chance to cut them.

It was messy and electric, a living, breathing riot of noise, full-hearted and impossible to ignore.

Derek had loved it. The laughter, the movement, the way they all fit together without trying. It was the kind of closeness you don’t question, only feel.

Weddings weren’t just events; they were declarations. We’re still here. We still show up for joy.

No one knew he hadn’t been to a wedding since then. And he definitely hadn’t told Cora he was going to one now.

It could be that he hadn’t known how to say it. Or that some part of him still believed showing up might break something. That stepping into someone else’s celebration with all that memory sitting heavy on his chest would make it real again. The loss, the silence, the after.

So he didn’t say anything.

Which made it that much worse when she stormed into his loft three days before the wedding, wild-eyed and vibrating with sibling fury.

“Why the hell does everyone in this god-awful town know you’re dating Stiles and I don’t?” She didn’t wait for a response. Just slammed the door shut and stormed across the loft, ready to throw hands.

Derek, barefoot and clutching a lukewarm mug of coffee, gave her an unimpressed look. “Good morning to you too.”

“Don’t start,” she scoffed. “Erica texted me in all caps. I couldn’t even tell what she was saying, it was just emojis and the word ‘finally’ eight times.”

“I didn’t tell anyone anything,” Derek muttered. “It’s just… been assumed.”

“Well,” Cora threw up her hands, “now I’m getting tagged in soft launch memes, and Lydia’s sending me links to champagne-colored dresses for your wedding.”

He stared at her.

She stared right back. Then folded her arms. “So this is fake?”

He didn’t answer right away. That was telling enough.

Cora rolled her eyes. “God, you’re both idiots. I came down here because you were keeping secrets, and now I have to fix this, huh?”

“You’re not fixing anything,” Derek said flatly.

She raised a brow. “I’m literally the only emotionally competent person left in this family. You’re welcome.”

“Yeah,” Derek snapped, “there’s literally, what, four of us left, Cora. That doesn’t make much of a difference.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should’ve. Cora didn’t argue. Didn’t push back. Just stood there, watching him.

Derek looked down into his coffee. “I have a wedding to attend in a few days. And I have to pretend the whole day it doesn’t mean anything.”

Her voice softened. “You could just tell him the truth.”

He didn’t look up. “That I agreed to fake-date him because it was safer than admitting I wanted more.” The words slipped out cool and even, as if he’d long since stopped expecting anything from the truth.

“Because I’m too fucked up to believe someone like him could actually choose me. Too used to losing things to think I’d get to keep something like that.”

Cora didn’t speak right away. When she did, the bite was gone, replaced by sadness. “Jesus, Der.”

“Don’t,” he mumbled, jaw tight.

“No, I mean it.” She stepped closer, not to argue, just to be there. “You think I don’t get that? You think I haven’t felt that every day since the fire? Since Laura? Like maybe we’re still breathing, but we’re not whole?”

That made him flinch. 

“You want to talk about being messed up? Join the club,” she said, her tone gentle but unmistakably firm. “But you’re still here. You show up, no matter how hard it gets. You care, when most would shut down. You love people, despite what you think you deserve. That means something, Derek. It means you’re not as broken as you want to believe.”

Derek looked at her then. His expression was unreadable, but the hurt was there. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “Any of it. I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

Cora’s mouth pulled into a small smile. “Then stop pretending. Just… be honest with him. He’s not going to laugh. He’s not going to run. You know that.”

Derek was still for a long moment, turning her words over. Then he released a long sigh he hadn’t known he was holding in.

The signs had been building for a while. Quiet, certain things stacking between them as he and Stiles drifted closer without ever saying it out loud.

Maybe once, back when college pulled Stiles away and visits felt closer to obligation than instinct, Derek could’ve written it off. Just habit. Leftover adrenaline from too many near-deaths and nights on watch. Easy to ignore when the space between them was wide.

But that space was gone now.

Stiles had come back loud. Bright. Unavoidable. He moved through the loft like it was his place, filling it with coffee, fast words, too much energy, and far too many opinions.

He grabbed Derek without warning, dragged him to brunches and dance lessons and cake tastings. Pulled him through every situation Derek would never tolerate with anyone else.

It meant something.

Because Stiles was always there now. Constant. And the way he looked at Derek, open, unguarded, a little too soft, made something inside Derek unspool.

“Yeah, I guess the wedding’ll be a day,” he sighed, setting his mug down with a dull thunk before flopping onto the couch, drained and too tired to care how he lands.

Cora smirked and dropped next to him, humming as she leaned into his side as though they were still kids on the porch after a pack run.

“Oh, brother,” she huffed. “I’ve never wanted an invite more. I could spy from a rooftop. Did I tell you I’m getting better at full shifts?”

Derek gave her a look. “Please don’t show up to a human wedding in wolf form. Stiles will never forgive us.”

She laughed but didn’t respond. The room fell quiet. Just the sounds of wildlife outside the windows and the steady hum of the fridge.

Cora let the silence stretch between them when Derek tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Didn’t press when his breathing slowed, his body working to calm itself.

Then, finally, he spoke. Voice low and measured. “I’ll take him on the dance floor.”

Cora jerked her head toward him, surprise in her voice. “When the hell did you learn to dance?”

“Few weeks ago,” he whispered. “Stiles made me.”

She snorted. “That man could make you kill an innocent.”

Derek didn’t argue. “I’ll take him on the dance floor,” he repeated, firmer now. His fingers curled against the cushion. “That’s where I’ll do it. I’ll tell him everything. When it’s just us. When he’s looking at me like I’m not the worst choice in the room.”

He shook his head slightly. Staring at nothing. “I’ll tell him it was never fake. Not for me. That it hasn’t been for a long time. That I want it to be real.” A breath in and out. “That’s when I’ll stop pretending.”

Cora leaned in, resting her head on his shoulder, her words carrying a gentle kindness. “Then give him something to remember. Just you, no defenses. That’s what counts.”

Derek let out a short, dry laugh, eyes closing again. He wasn’t completely ready to believe in happily ever after, but holding himself back had started to hurt in all the places love used to live.

Chapter Text

It might not happen on the dance floor.

Derek had meant it when he told Cora. He’d pictured the lights dimmed, Stiles close, music wrapping around them. Something slow. Familiar. The kind of moment where time softened at the edges and everything else fell away.

But reality might have other plans.

One moment the house was still. Morning light spilled through the blinds, and the only sound was the soft hum of summer air pressing against the windows. Then came a thud, the rush of footsteps, and a voice, fast and unmistakable, already mid-complaint as Stiles burst into his room.

By the time Derek pushed up onto one elbow, Stiles was already across the floor, socks sliding on the polished concrete, a tie clenched in one hand, determination clear on his face. He flung open the closet, rifling through hangers until his hands closed on their nearly-matching suits.

Derek remembered the suit shopping. Well, he remembered surviving it.

Stiles reminded Derek of a puppy discovering the world for the first time. He bounced around the store, touching every swatch of fabric, making increasingly awful tie suggestions (“You’d crush a paisley, Derek, just trust me”), and trying on jackets for dramatic turns in front of the mirror.

Derek stood there the entire time, feeling overheated, pretending not to watch every move Stiles made.

And then Stiles came out wearing a full suit, and Derek nearly forgot how to function. Clearing his throat, he grunted something about the hem being uneven just to stop Stiles from smirking at him.

Now, Stiles held up both jackets as though they’d personally offended him. “You didn’t even touch these,” he accused. “You had one job, Derek. One. Try yours on again. Make sure it’s not haunted. Basic wedding guest behavior.”

Derek, still shirtless, and half-buried in the sheets, sat up slowly. “They’re not haunted,” he mumbled.

Stiles didn’t answer. Instead, he yanked his shirt off and tossed it over his shoulder without a second thought, holding up a white button-up. His hair was a mess, strands sticking out every which way. There was a faint stain on his jeans, but Stiles didn’t seem to care. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

Derek—wide awake now, every sense alert in the worst possible way—just watched him.

The lean lines of Stiles’ arms, pale and bathed in the gentle light. The way his collarbones dipped beneath the smooth skin of his neck. The scatter of moles across his shoulders.

It was the kind of look Derek didn’t bother to hide. He memorized every detail: the angles and softness, the way Stiles carried himself without trying. It grounded him, made the world slow down just enough.

Stiles tugged the shirt on, fingers clumsy as they fumbled over the buttons, but Derek’s eyes stayed locked on the skin beneath, envy of the way the shirt would soon cover what he wanted to keep in sight a little longer.

“You might end up looking better than the couple,” Derek said. It came out rough, more honest than he meant.

Stiles paused mid-button and glanced up at him, brows raised, trying to decide if that had been a joke or not. A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, I am a menace in formalwear,” he teased lightly, as if he wasn’t rattled at all.

But Derek saw the flicker of something behind his eyes. He smelled it too, in the warmth of Stiles’ skin, the flutter of nerves, something bright and tentative curling up under it like hope.

“Yeah,” Derek sighed, voice low. “You are.”And it hung there. That small truth, too full for words so simple.

Stiles turned back to the mirror, but his hands were steadier now. And Derek… he sat there, waiting for the right moment.

It didn’t feel like the dance floor anymore. It felt like this. A sunny morning. A shirt that wouldn’t sit right on Stiles’ shoulders.

He fussed with the tie, his fingers digging in as it choked him.  “Okay, but seriously, what kind of masochist chooses a summer wedding with buttoned collars and wool pants?”

Without thinking, Derek pushed the sheets away and got out of bed. “Let me help,” he insisted. Stiles froze, briefly taken aback, then let his hands fall away.

Derek reached up, fingers brushing the fabric, smoothing the edge where it had twisted in on itself. He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, really. Not with Stiles right there. Not with his breath close enough to catch, the scent of his body wash still lingering on his skin.

Stiles looked at him. Not smiling now. Just looking. Like he was seeing straight through Derek’s ribs to the part of him that had never stopped hoping. He swallowed, hands lingered a second too long at Stiles’ tie.

“I mean, I know I still have to figure out the rest of the outfit, but do I look okay?” Stiles asked, quieter now.

Derek nodded, his voice caught in his throat. “Yeah. You look…” He paused, took a breath, then finished softly, “You look like trouble.”

Stiles let out a short laugh, startled and flustered in a way he didn’t bother hiding. Maybe this was it. Not a speech, or a sweeping gesture, or a dance floor confession.

Just this.

Derek watched the way Stiles held himself, the slight rise and fall of his chest, the flush still lingering on his cheeks. His fingers hovered near his tie, but didn’t move.

Derek leaned in. Not all the way. Just enough for the air between them to change. Something shifted in Stiles’ eyes: wanting, waiting. Maybe even ready.

The moment stretched, drawn tight between them. Close enough to feel it, to almost touch it. Then Stiles’ phone buzzed. The sound cut through the stillness. He jumped, fumbling to silence the alarm. “Right. That’s, uh… the reminder. We’re officially in danger of not making it.”

Derek didn’t answer at first. He just watched the way Stiles held still, his fingers hovering near the phone as if the moment hadn’t fully passed. Like he wasn’t sure what came next.

Stiles’ gaze drifted downward, resting first on Derek’s bare chest, tracing the muscles there. His look traveled lower, following the curve of Derek’s waist. His bottom lip caught between his teeth in a quick, nervous gesture.

That was enough.

Derek stepped back, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats. He lowered them deliberately, the faint rustle of worn cotton a whispered invitation for Stiles to look.

Stiles’ eyes widened for a moment. He seemed thrown, for what had to be the third time that morning, yet stayed where he was. Derek noticed the quick jump of his pulse and the heady undertone of arousal rising in his scent.

A slow, knowing smile tugged at Derek’s mouth, but beneath it was something deeper: a flicker of awe at Stiles standing there, wanting him in a way that made the air between them almost buzz.

He kept his smile calm and easy, but his eyes carried the weight of everything left unsaid. “Lily’s gonna kill you if we show up late.”

Stiles groaned, running his fingers through his hair, the warmth in his cheeks refusing to fade. “Then let’s not be late.”

He turned toward the mirror again, slower this time, and Derek finished dressing in the silence that followed. They didn’t speak again until they reached the door. And even then, it wasn’t about the important things.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Derek felt like he was being thrown back in time.

Not just the towering flower arrangements or the voices echoing through the courtyard, but the sheer weight of the day. The easy contentment of people laughing and moving through each other’s lives as if they’d always been there. It pressed against something old and half-buried in him.

The wedding was huge, maybe bigger than anything his family had ever hosted, but its spirit felt familiar—alive, welcoming. Something that remembered what happiness was and knew how to carry you somewhere safe.

The castle sat nestled in the hills, all glass and ivy-covered stone. It glowed under the afternoon sun, a scene straight out of a storybook.

Derek had never been here before, hadn’t even seen pictures when Lily mentioned it, but the second they arrived, his chest tightened in that way it did when memory crept up too fast.

His mother would’ve loved it here.

She would’ve walked the length of the garden twice just to admire the setup, complimenting the floral archway. Standing back with her arms folded, she would’ve said, “Now that’s a place to start forever.”

Maybe it wasn’t for his family. But for a second, Derek could almost feel them in the air. He let himself stand in it for just a moment. Let the ache roll over him.

Then he heard Stiles behind him, grumbling as he yanked at his tie. “Just so we’re clear, if I drop dead out here, it’s not the heat. It’s this tie. Strangled in broad daylight, and you let it happen. Good luck explaining that to my dad.”

The voice pulled Derek back to the present.

Stiles stood there in a dark navy suit, tailored just enough to look effortless but sharp against the curve of his shoulders. The jacket was slightly rumpled from fidgeting. His chestnut hair had dried into soft, uneven waves that curled just enough to look intentional.

A flush crept up his cheeks. Maybe from the summer heat, maybe from his own anxious energy, but when he glanced up, his amber eyes caught the light, wide and searching.

“Maybe if you stopped playing with it, it’d stop trying to kill you,” Derek muttered, amusement threading through his tone, though something heavier tugged at the edges.

Stiles frowned, pulling at his collar in frustration. “Yeah, yeah. Like you’re the perfect picture of calm under pressure. I swear, your brooding alone could strangle me faster than this thing.”

Derek’s lips curled into a smirk as he stepped just a little closer than necessary. “I’m not the one almost choking.”

Stiles rolled his eyes but didn’t back away. “You’re responsible since you ‘helped’ me with it.”

“Details.” Derek’s tone dropped, softer now. “It looked better after I was done.”

Stiles let out a short laugh, the tension slipping away just a bit. “If by ‘better’ you mean it didn’t take me out immediately, sure.”

They stood there for a heartbeat, the noise around them fading just enough for the unsaid to hum between them.

Derek didn’t look away. His eyes lingered on the way Stiles shifted his weight from foot to foot, fingers twitching as he tugged at his cuffs, straightened his lapel, adjusted his tie like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. 

His suit fit well. Maybe too well when he wasn’t actively struggling in it, revealing every line he wasn’t trying to show off. The flush on his cheeks bled faintly down his neck, and Derek couldn’t help thinking how perfect his marks would look there.

Stiles tilted his head, brows lifting. “What?”

He looked at Stiles for a second too long before choosing the easiest lie. “Nothing.”

The corner of Stiles’ mouth tugged upward. “You’re staring like I’ve got a second tie growing out of my neck.”

“You don’t,” Derek chuckled. “But you’re still managing to lose a fight with it.”

Stiles snorted. “You say that like I haven’t been losing fights with inanimate objects since childhood.”

Derek said it without thinking: “You’ve just never looked that good doing it before.”

Stiles stilled for half a second. Just a flicker of breath, a shift in the shape of his mouth, then he covered it with a crooked grin. “Careful. Dangerous compliment territory, Sourwolf.”

“It’s true.” The words came quietly.

Another breath passed between them. Voices drifted through the open air—laughter, movement, the wedding carrying on—but neither of them moved.

Stiles looked away first, not far, just down at his shoes, biting his lip. Derek could feel the confession waiting there, fragile and close, suspended in the space between them.

A shadow stretched across the cobblestones. Derek glanced up to see Sheriff Stilinski approaching from the path, his jacket unbuttoned, hands tucked into his pockets, moving without any sense of urgency.

There was something different in his eyes when they landed on Derek. Still familiar, but calmer now, open in a way that wasn’t about suspicion but recognition. Like he wanted to know Derek, not just figure him out.

“Well,” the Sheriff said, stopping a few steps away, “I’ve known you a long time, Derek, but I’ve been waiting a while to meet this version of you.”

Their hands met in a firm shake, Derek standing straight, unsure what to say. The Sheriff’s mouth twitched, holding back a smile. “You know. Not the guy getting half my department’s attention every week, or the one brooding in corners during crime scenes, but the one dating my kid.”

He flicked a glance at Stiles, who shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, his fingers at his mouth, chewing nervously at a thumbnail.

Derek reached out and slid an arm around his waist, pulling him in close. Some of the tension in Stiles’ body loosened, his shoulders dropping slightly.

The Sheriff turned back to Derek with a smile. “You two planning on coming in sometime today? Wedding’s in five. Thought maybe you were trying to bail before meeting the rest of the family, Hale.”

Derek swallowed, a pressure that had been building since they arrived finally letting go. The Sheriff’s words still carried weight, but they weren’t meant to drive him away. Instead, they felt like an invitation.

By the time they stepped through the garden, the ceremony had already begun. Gentle melodies wove through the officiant’s words, while the guests sat hushed. Stiles gripped Derek’s wrist and tugged him toward an open seat, but Derek barely felt it. He was already watching.

Lily and Mason stood at the altar, hands clasped between them, swaying slightly as if the ground only held steady beneath each other. Sunlight filtered through the trees overhead, casting gold across the stone path, the delicate lace of her dress, the dark sheen of his suit. 

Laughter was woven through the vows, breathless honesty, the quiet awe of someone saying I choose you and meaning it with their whole heart. It was beautiful. Not in some distant, picture-perfect way, but in a way that cracked something open inside Derek’s chest.

He hadn’t expected that.

The vows were simple but powerful. They silenced the room and tightened Derek’s throat, his eyes stinging with an emotion he hadn’t let rise in a long time. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d allowed himself to feel without swallowing it back down.

This wasn’t some abstract idea of love. It was here, alive. Thick in the air, humming through the crowd of gathered witnesses, glowing between the couple like a protective forcefield.

His heart ached. For his family. For the kind of happiness that once felt normal. For how close Stiles sat beside him, warm and fidgeting, stealing shy glances before quickly looking away.

Derek couldn’t stop staring at the couple. He sat still and listened, letting the words sink in as though they were meant for him, even if they weren’t.

He wasn’t crying, but he felt close.

The ceremony faded into applause, soft and full of joy, no one wanting to break the spell. The newlyweds kissed and clutched at each other’s arms, and Derek watched with the same ache pressing deep in his chest.

He didn’t even notice when Stiles grabbed his hand as they rose and moved with the crowd toward the winding path that led to the reception hall. His fingers wrapped around Derek’s, easy and sure, like they’d done it a hundred times before. No performance, just certainty, as if they were already something solid.

Derek didn’t pull away. Didn’t even think to.

They walked that way, hands locked, shoulders brushing under a shower of flower petals tossed by giggling children. Music floated from the distance. Someone called their names with a grin, but it all blurred at the edges.

Stiles squeezed his hand once, firm and quick, then glanced up with that too-big, too-honest smile. “Guess it’s party time,” his voice teasing, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Derek breathed in, slow and careful, hoping it might keep him from messing everything up. No more running. No more hiding. Whatever came next, he was done holding back.

Chapter Text

The reception hall glowed with soft light and the hum of celebration. Silverware clinked, music drifted low through the air, voices rising and falling beneath loud bursts of laughter.

The nerves clinging to Stiles earlier dissolved somewhere between the first champagne toast and the fifth greeting with open arms and easy affection. He gripped Derek’s wrist as if he might float off without the anchor, moving through the room like it was a stage he’d forgotten he knew how to command.

Stiles was laughing more now, full-body laughter that shook his shoulders and made people around him smile wider and lean in closer. He didn’t flinch when someone pulled him into a hug. Didn’t fidget with his cuffs or glance around, waiting for something to go wrong.

He just… let go. Slipped into the rhythm of it. And Derek, trailing behind, could only watch Stiles lit up the space without even trying.

Introductions came fast, names Derek forgot instantly, faces blurring together, too many claps on the back with grins as if they’d known him forever. Being Stiles’ date seemed to make him one of them, yet Derek still felt exposed in his own skin, too seen to fully relax.

Every time Stiles mentioned him, there was an easy confidence and flash of pride as he said, “This is my boyfriend, Derek,” in a voice so steady it made the words feel factual.

His heartbeat never faltered, and Derek’s wolf loved it just as much as he did.

By the time they finally sat down, Derek realized he wasn’t hungry—not for food, anyway. His eyes kept finding Stiles without meaning to, tracking every shift in his seat, every flick of his hands as he talked.

“So, what are you doing with yourself these days?” the Sheriff asked, his voice relaxed, carrying an easy familiarity.

“Uh…” Derek’s eyes ran over Stiles just as he was mid-sentence, giggling at something only he found hilarious. 

His hands fluttered over the table, tapping and fiddling before folding and unfolding a napkin with a distracted grace. Stiles’ smile was wide and genuine, full of that effortless charm even when his stories tangled and tripped over themselves. “I…”

“Not exactly a hard question,” the Sheriff said, amusement clear in his voice.

Derek cleared his throat, heat blooming on his cheeks. “Sorry, Sir. I was just—”

He tried to focus, but Stiles spotted someone walking toward him and threw up an excited wave, nearly tipping his glass over in the process. 

Derek found himself swept up in Stiles’ joy, unable to turn away. Every movement, every gesture was full of energy, radiating happiness that made it impossible to notice anything else.

The Sheriff caught Derek’s gaze and gave a knowing smile. “Yeah, he’s a handful. Hell, easier to just watch him than try to keep up.”

Then he leaned in a bit, lowering his voice. “Forget the formalities. Call me Noah on one condition. You come over next weekend to watch the Mets game. I’ll have the beer, but you better bring the food, or Stiles’ll hear about it and have me choking down a damn garden salad.”

Derek chuckled, his heart skipping a beat at the Sheriff’s teasing. There was something easy and genuine in the way he said it. This was exactly the kind of normal Derek didn’t know he was ready for.

“Deal.”

He barely touched his plate when Stiles finally turned back to him. With their tablemates’ attention drifting elsewhere and just the two of them left, Stiles slumped back in his chair with a dramatic sigh.

Without missing a beat, he jabbed a limp carrot on Derek’s plate, wiggling it like a tiny flag of defeat. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he muttered with a mouthful, “but these taste like pure despair.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, but didn’t stop him when he reached across again. Stiles took that as permission to start picking through Derek’s vegetables with no shame.

“Unseasoned. Tragic. I should report this,” Stiles nudged a piece of roasted squash to the side, his face twisting into an exaggerated grimace. “As your fake boyfriend, it is my solemn duty to rescue you from culinary sadness.”

“You’re just stealing my food.”

“I’m redistributing resources,” he scoffed, then popped another piece in his mouth. “It’s political.”

Derek shook his head and looked away, trying—failing—not to smile. Someone clinked a spoon against a glass, and the noise quieted just enough to pull everyone into the same space. 

Conversations faded, and people turned toward the head table where Lily and Mason were already on their feet, hands clasped as they walked toward the cake. The applause started small but quickly grew as more people joined in.

The cake looked straight out of a wedding catalog. Four tiers of pale ivory sponge stacked high, with fine almond shavings and sugared lemon slices shimmering against the fondant.

It was almost too pretty to eat, the sort of cake that left mothers dabbing their eyes while uncles grumbled about the mountain of icing.

Mason gripped the knife with both hands, holding it carefully, as if any wrong move could set it off. His face was a mix of anxiety and mock-dramatics when he glanced sideways at Lily, who just laughed and nudged him with her hip. Her smile was wide and open, the kind that made anyone who saw it want to join in.

Derek didn’t even realize how still he’d gone until Stiles shifted beside him.

The couple posed for a picture, hands overlapping on the handle, and together, they pressed the blade into the bottom tier. The knife sank through the fondant cleanly, and the cake inside broke apart, fluffy and golden.

Stiles leaned in close enough that Derek could feel his breath on his neck. “They practiced that. You cannot convince me they didn’t.”

Derek watched Mason’s jaw tick slightly as he cut the next slice. “I heard her threaten to stab him earlier if he made it weird.”

Stiles snorted. “God, that’s so her.”

Lily lifted the first slice onto a plate, then turned to Mason, her whole face angelic in a way that screamed trouble. Mason immediately took a step back, hands half-raised.

“Five bucks says she goes for it,” Stiles murmured.

“She won’t.”

“You really don’t know Lily.”

Derek just watched, already knowing how this would go, but he loved humoring Stiles either way.

She smiled, pretending to admire the cake, then lunged, sending frosting flying across Mason’s cheek as the crowd erupted with laughter.

Mason stumbled back, trying to recover, but Lily was already giggling and slipping away. He chased her around the table, caught her wrist, and pulled her close. She cupped his cheeks, frosting still clinging to her fingers, and kissed him.

Stiles exhaled beside him, the sight clearly wounding him. “Wow, disgusting. I hope someone shoves cake in my face someday.”

Derek kept his mouth shut. Every ounce of willpower went into not saying: I’d shove a lot of things in your face if it made you happy.

The servers began moving through the tables, setting slices down in front of guests. Derek barely noticed until the scent hit, a citrus tang softened by the richness of roasted nuts.

Stiles straightened up, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh hell yes!” He yanked his plate closer and took a huge bite, sighing, his lashes fluttering. “Okay, this is actually life-changing. Tell Lily she’s not allowed to divorce Mason unless she gets custody of the baker.”

Derek glanced at him, a small, almost-hidden smile tugging at his lips. The moment was soft. Stupid, but soft.

Then Stiles scooped up another forkful, turned toward him, and without warning, shoved it straight into Derek’s mouth. Derek jerked back, the sudden sweetness hitting him sharply. He choked, swallowing hard at the sugar clinging stubbornly to the back of his throat.

By the time he’d recovered, Stiles was already chuckling, pleased with himself. “You’re welcome,” he offered with a sly smirk, “You’ve been cake-baptized.”

Derek just stared as Stiles pushed another piece into his mouth, stunned into silence. There was frosting on Stiles’ knuckle, a streak at the corner of his mouth that he hadn’t noticed. His cheeks were flushed from happiness, sugar, or just existing too close.

He looked like something alive in the middle of a room that had started to blur at the edges. Derek couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed. Not even a little.

This—whatever this was—felt crazy and real in a way Derek hadn’t let himself want in a long time.

Maybe this was what love was.

Not careful, not perfect, kind of close and messy. Sweet in a way that tucked itself behind his ribs and refused to leave. He swallowed the bite slowly, keeping quiet, and didn’t look away.

The last crumbs of cake dissolved on their tongues, and quiet chatter began to fill the air around them. Derek caught the music rising, its rhythm crawling over his senses, pulling at him with each pulse.

He glanced at Stiles, who was already watching the dance floor with that subtle look of anticipation. Derek could see it on his face, the exact moment before Stiles would reach out and pull him into the music without any warning.

But Derek moved first. He stood slowly, circled around Stiles’ chair, and leaned in just enough that his lips brushed Stiles’ ear. “Dance with me?” he asked, voice almost shy.

Stiles froze, eyes wide for a heartbeat. Then he tilted his head back to look at Derek, a smile blooming across his face so big it knocked the air from Derek’s lungs. 

“Yeah,” Stiles chuckled, hand sliding through his. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Derek held on, guiding him to the center of the floor. Warm lights shone, casting halos around them, but the brighter spots bit into Derek’s eyes. He squinted and ducked closer to Stiles.

The crowd pressed in at the edges of his senses, a swirl of perfume and voices crashing around him. It wasn’t quite danger, but it was close enough to keep him tense.

Still, he didn’t pull away.

Not after waiting this long. Not when he finally had Stiles right here, close enough to touch, close enough to say all the things he hadn’t dared to before.

The fear lingered, quiet but sharp. Wanting this, letting it mean something, was its own kind of risk. Still, Stiles moved with that careless surety that always threw Derek off balance, making him want to match it.

Warmth settled into Derek’s shoulder where a hand held firm. Their fingers intertwined, resting easy between their chests. Stiles shifted close, his body moving with a slow, natural ease. Derek let himself lean into it, daring to believe it might be real.

His head dipped, giving a small, unsteady but honest smile. He swallowed hard, the weight of the words catching in his throat before slipping free. “I don’t think I’ve breathed right since the day you showed up at my loft asking for a date to the wedding.”

Stiles stiffened, clutching Derek’s sleeve. “Well… I don’t think I’ve been able to think straight since you said you’d do it.”

Derek didn’t smile fully or look away. Instead, he exhaled shakily. “I meant it,” he whispered. “All of it.”

Stiles tilted his head, uncertainty flickering across his face. 

Derek pressed on. “I didn’t do this just to help. I said yes because the idea of someone else being here scared the hell out of me. I didn’t know how to say I wanted you without ruining everything.”

His hands dropped to clench on Stiles’ waist, knuckles white. His jaw tightened, lips pressed into a hard line. The music swirled around them, too gentle for the harsh truth in his chest.

Stiles met him with an expression that was patient and waiting. “Just… talk to me, Derek,” he encouraged.

Derek hesitated, blinking past Stiles. “I should’ve never wanted anything. Not even before the fire… before I lost the one innocent thing I thought I could hold onto.” His voice cracked, haunted by the memories.

“I’ve fallen hard more than once, and each time it tore everything apart.” His body wavered, the weight of the confession making him unsteady. “My family…” He paused, shoulders sagging. “Most of them are gone because of me. I carry that every day.”

He shook his head slowly, bitterness lacing his tone. “I’m not good for anyone. Especially not for you.”

Stiles blinked rapidly, tears threatening to spill. “You’re not a monster. I know the hell you’ve lived through, but it wasn’t your—”

Derek held up a hand before Stiles could finish. “No. I need to tell you this first. Because if I don’t get it out now, I never will.”

He looked away again, eyes tracing the floor, then back at Stiles. “I’ve spent so long thinking that whatever good I had was either consumed by the fire or buried six feet deep along with everyone else. Then you… came back. Forcing me into your messes. Smiling at me like I wasn’t a total wreck. And I didn’t know what to do with that. I still don’t.”

He swallowed, pulling himself together with a slow inhale. “I don’t know how to be someone worth loving. Not really. But I know I’d give anything to try if it meant staying here with you.”

Stiles didn’t say anything right away. There was a sadness on his face, a longing to take Derek’s pain into himself.

Derek looked down, almost afraid to hear how Stiles was going to reply. “You don’t have to say anything back,” he muttered, already retreating. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He tried to pull away, but Stiles didn’t let him get far. “Hey,” Stiles said quietly, his hand tightening around Derek’s, his stare carrying an intensity that didn’t leave room for escape. “You don’t get to dump all that on me and then walk away.”

There was a rough strain to his voice, a mix of vulnerability and determination. “I had to count my fingers a few times to make sure this wasn’t a dream.”

Derek didn’t lift his gaze. His chest rose and fell in shaky breaths, each one sharp with restraint. So Stiles stepped in closer, letting their arms brush together.

“You think I don’t know what broken feels like? Like losing pieces of yourself that never come back, no matter how much you beg them to.” He rubbed at the place just above his heart, pressing lightly as if trying to hold himself together. 

“I know I didn’t lose most of my family, but my mom’s been gone for a while now… Some days it hits me out of nowhere, when I’m sitting in silence or when a song plays on the radio and suddenly I’m drowning in it.”

Stiles took a breath, voice trembling but sure. “But I’ve learned that surviving isn’t about forgetting or fixing it. It’s about feeling every crack, every scar, and still finding a way forward. Still holding on to something worth fighting for.”

His fingers drummed nervously against his chest, and with each thump from the speaker, he moved closer until their bodies met again. “We’re allowed to want things, Der. I’ve wanted you for so long, I don’t even remember when this stopped feeling anything but real.”

Derek didn’t respond, didn’t even breathe, and Stiles let out a small huff—a laugh that was half disbelief, half frustration, his expression showing he couldn’t quite believe this was happening either.

“You say you don’t know how to be worth loving, but you’ve been that for me this whole damn time. You show up and listen. You care when you think no one sees. You make me feel safe.”

Stiles reached up, his touch gentle against Derek’s face. He trembled beneath it, as if he could shatter any second. “You don’t have to earn me. You already have me,” Stiles said with certainty. There was a beat of silence. Then, quieter: “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Derek’s wolf surged inside him, pressing with an unshakable need to draw Stiles close and never let go. He held it back, letting the words wrap around the parts of himself he never thought anyone would see, let alone hold with care.

Derek’s hands lifted slowly, one brushing the side of Stiles’ neck, the other tracing the blush along his cheek. He held Stiles, afraid it all might slip between his fingers if he moved too quickly. “You mean that?” he asked, voice so low it almost got lost in the crowd.

Stiles nodded fast. “Every bit of it.”

Derek leaned in until his forehead rested against Stiles’, needing the contact to center himself. He wanted to brush a stray lock of hair behind Stiles’ ear, but he froze. He stayed there for a few beats—maybe four—letting the steady sound of music fill the pause, long enough for the doubt to fall away.

Then, finally, Derek kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate. Every brush was slow and soft, an attempt to understand what love meant by giving it back. The kiss whispered I see you and please let this be real.

Stiles leaned into him immediately, fingers curling into the front of Derek’s suit. The other hand found the back of Derek’s neck, familiar and certain, like he had always known exactly where to touch to keep him from falling apart.

The music swelled around them, as if it had synced to the thrum beneath Derek’s skin. But none of it mattered, not the song or the room, compared to the way Stiles melted into him. 

He wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t second-guessing.

Derek tilted his head, letting a growl rumble from his chest as he deepened the kiss. His hands moved from Stiles’ face down to dig into his hips, pulling him impossibly closer. 

A light, breathless moan slipped from Stiles. The sound sent a surge of desire through the pit of Derek’s stomach. His heart slammed hard and wild, remembering what it meant to want without holding back, to feel without fear.

For the first time in longer than he cared to admit, Derek didn’t retreat from the wanting. He didn’t brace for loss or guilt or the echo of things he thought he’d never be allowed to have. 

Instead, he leaned in and let himself feel it. He let himself believe, just for now, that this wasn’t borrowed happiness or a mistake to want it. 

That he could stay and Stiles would still be there, looking at him like Derek was exactly what he’d been searching for all along.

Chapter Text

PACK ATTACK 🐺 

Today 6:47 PM

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: Omg hiiii everyone!!! This is Lily, Stiles’ cousin!! I found his phone at the table 😬

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: Wait is this his friend group chat?? There’s a million people in here

Scotty 2 Hotty: oh no

Scotty 2 Hotty: lily what did u see 👀

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: GUYS

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: [Image attached: blurry photo of Derek and Stiles slow-dancing, both of them locked in a look as if the rest of the world didn’t exist]

Batwoman: HOLY SHIT

Queen Lydia: Oh, this is interesting.

Kanima Kardashian: Absolutely not

Scarf Boy: IS THAT HAPPENING RIGHT NOW WTF

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: They’ve been like this for 10 minutes. I think I forgot how to breathe 😭

Crossbow Barbie: About time!!

Big Guy: Looks real to me

Malicious: are they gonna kiss 

Scotty 2 Hotty: don’t all thank me at once. this whole thing technically happened because of ME

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: What do you mean??

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: OH MY GOD WAIT

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: [Video attached: shaky zoomed-in footage of Derek cupping Stiles’ face, foreheads almost touching]

Kanima Kardashian: I can’t hear them but Stiles looks like he’s abt to cry

Queen Lydia: Hopefully in a good way. Because if this turns tragic now, I will riot.

Pete the Creep: So the fake dating farce dies here. How sentimental.

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: Fake dating?

Scotty 2 Hotty: haha what no. who said that? i’ve never heard of fake dating in my life 😅

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: Uh huh… sure

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: I should’ve known when he made me swear not to show Derek that ten-page list of all the things he loves about him 🤭

Crossbow Barbie: To be fair I wouldn’t show anyone that either lol

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: [Photo attached: Derek and Stiles kissing—soft and completely wrapped up in each other]

Batwoman: THERE IT IS

Scotty 2 Hotty: THEY ACTUALLY DID IT 

Scarf Boy: IM SOBBING 😭😭

Kanima Kardashian: Tbh I’m shocked it didn’t take a hostage situation or an intervention

Queen Lydia: I want that in 4K, on three backup drives, and printed on archival paper.

Big Guy: Should we be watching this?

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: Too late

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: The ENTIRE WEDDING is watching

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: They are aggressively oblivious 😭

Scotty 2 Hotty: i’m just… so proud

Batwoman: THIS IS THE MOST ROMANTIC THING I'VE EVER SEEN AND I’M PISSED I’M NOT THERE

Scarf Boy: derek is gonna to MURDER us when he finds out we saw this

Pete the Creep: He can try. I bite back.

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: [Photo attached: Derek with his face buried in Stiles’ neck, swaying as Stiles clung to him]

Queen Lydia: That will be a great picture for the engagement announcement.

Malicious: they look happy. weird

Kanima Kardashian: Disgustingly happy it’s nauseating

Crossbow Barbie: Malia you said something nice... Are you okay?

Malicious: i said it was weird thats not nice

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: OKAY WAIT THEY’RE GOING BACK TO THE TABLE

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: Stiles looks like he got hit by a truck

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: A romance truck 💘

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: Derek won’t stop touching him. Arm. Waist. Little forehead bump thing?? Help

Batwoman: I’M CALLING A CAB RIGHT NOW

Scotty 2 Hotty: erica no

Batwoman: ERICA YES

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: Wait he’s looking around

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: He’s looking for his phone 😳

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: Do I give it back or??

Big Guy: He’s your problem now

Scarf Boy: lily it’s been an honor

Batwoman: PROTECT THE PHONE AT ALL COSTS

Pete the Creep: Leave the chat open. Let him see how deeply invested we all are in his unraveling.

Queen Lydia: Oh he’s going to read every single message and I cannot wait.

Malicious: this ends in bloodshed

Crossbow Barbie: If it does I got the first aid kit

Scotty 2 Hotty: relax it’ll be more like emotional violence 🫡

Big Guy: Moment of silence for Lily

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: I told him… he’s smiling

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: OH MY GOD THEY’RE BOTH LAUGHING! 

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: Stiles said “tell them I said thanks” ???

Pete the Creep: I live to see another chaotic day.

Kanima Kardashian: Wait did Derek just acknowledge emotions in front of people

Queen Lydia: Look at the emotional growth.

Lily [via Stiles’ phone]: Okay he’s taking the phone now 😳

Batwoman: soooo… y’all gonna go home and make fake babies now or what

Sourwolf: if he keeps looking at me like that we leave

Stiles: Muting this. Don’t text. Don’t call

Stiles: I will be BUSY. Extremely. In ways that are not safe for this group chat 🚫📱

Cora the Destroya: U idiots are blowing up my phone 

Cora the Destroya: I was down to emotionally manipulate u both into falling in love

Cora the Destroya: But if I have to hear one more thing about my brother’s sex life I’m walking into the ocean 

………

Stiles lifted his eyes from his phone, resting on Derek with a lingering heat. Derek caught the quick flare of his lips, the way his eyes gleamed in the fading light before he pocketed his phone.

He swayed on his feet, a warmth pooling low in his stomach at the way Stiles was looking at him. He didn’t know what he did to deserve this. The quiet trust, the teasing spark.

Derek took a slow, steadying breath, letting the rush of heat fade slightly. “Ready to go?” he asked, threading their hands together as he shifted toward the door.

The smirk on Stiles’ lips made Derek swallow hard. “Oh, I’ve been ready.”

“Stiles! Wait!” Lily rushed forward, her grin wide and genuine. She clapped a hand over her mouth before grabbing him into a hug. “You two look happy. Really, really happy.”

Stiles laughed, leaning into her for a minute before pulling back. “I am,” he admitted, his gaze caught on Derek’s like he was waiting for something. 

Derek felt the weight of the look—the unspoken need, the quiet question—and he gave a small, almost shy nod. It was enough for Stiles’ shoulders to ease.  Enough to make Derek realize how much his answer truly mattered.

“Thanks, Lily. For everything. The wedding was beautiful,” Stiles added, and there was honesty in his voice. It wasn’t just politeness; it was soft with gratitude.

Lily turned to Derek, hugging him with the same warmth and enthusiasm. “Thanks for coming! Make sure you look after him, Derek. He’s my favorite troublemaker, and… well, you’re exactly the kind of man he needs.” 

She stepped back with a wink, leaving them to continue toward the exit. Her words left Derek’s heart fluttering, a sudden, light thrill he wasn’t used to.

They quickly walked through the lingering guests, the murmur of congratulations fading behind them. Derek kept a protective hold on Stiles, moving with quiet intensity. 

Every brush of skin, every fleeting glance heightened the tension between them, making him ache to close the distance and claim Stiles’ lips again.

“Hey, son!” the Sheriff called, bracing himself against a table. “You coming back tonight?”

Derek stalled, frustrated at the interruption yet unwilling to ignore him. Stiles only chuckled, tossing a wink over his shoulder. “Don’t wait up.”

The Sheriff shook his head, amusement and mild exasperation in his voice. “Figures. Take care of each other, both of you.”

Outside, the heat of the day clung to the air, though a faint breeze slipped through, and Stiles shivered, leaning into Derek without thinking. Derek couldn’t resist; he curled an arm around Stiles’ shoulders, bending down to nuzzle his hairline. “You okay?”

Stiles tilted his head, brushing his lips against Derek’s chin, then trailed teasing kisses up to his mouth. The kiss he left there was hungry and wet, sending a tremor racing down Derek’s spine. “Better than okay,” he whispered.

Derek lingered longer than he intended, surprised by the rush of happiness and need he felt. When he finally drew back, Stiles’ eyes held him in a gaze that was both daring and tender, a clear trust that Derek couldn’t believe was for him. “Take me home.”

The drive was unbearable, each second stretched thin. Derek’s muscles thrummed with anticipation, his senses alert to the faint scent of Stiles—arousal and joy mingling in a way that made his head spin. 

Stiles poked at his arm repeatedly, playful and insistent, until the tight grip on the wheel eased, and Derek finally dropped his right hand to catch Stiles’ fingers.

“So… what really comes after epic dance floor confessions?” His grin was huge with excitement. “Because I’m hoping it involves you, me, and a bed I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”

Heat surged through Derek, but there was a softness in the way he ran his thumb over Stiles’ knuckles. “Careful,” he murmured. “Keep it up, and we might not make it home before I show you exactly what comes after.”

Stiles shifted closer. “It’s a good thing you drive like an old man,” he practically kicked his feet as he laughed. “It gave me more time to think about how I’m gonna get you out of that suit.”

Then he dropped a kiss just under Derek’s jaw.

Derek’s breath hitched, heart hammering. He nearly missed the turn, but managed it, sliding into the driveway with more force than finesse. The engine cut, and he was already out of the car, at Stiles’ side, tugging him up gently but insistently.

“You’re insane,” Stiles teased.

“Maybe,” Derek shrugged, guiding him up the steps, the two of them stumbling in their hurry. At the door, the keys rattled against his shaking fingers, metal digging into skin.

He wasn’t nervous now, not really. He was desperate. Wanting too much, too fast.

Stiles’ laugh ghosted across his neck. “C’mon, you’re killing me here.”

Derek forced the lock, slid the door open, and slammed it behind them. Before he could think, Stiles pressed him hard against the steel, mouth crashing to his in a kiss that stole the air from his lungs. He matched it instantly, pouring in everything he’d held back, dizzy with heat and want.

Stiles pulled away for only a second, voice breaking against his mouth as he whispered, “I always wanted you.”

Derek cupped Stiles’ face, overwhelmed. “You have me.”

The kiss softened for a heartbeat, warm and steady, a quiet reassurance. Derek gathered Stiles into his arms, feeling the curve of his back and the rapid beat of his heart. 

Derek’s wolf coiled under his skin with a need he could no longer deny. He rested his forehead on Stiles’ briefly, breathing him in, before sliding his hands down to hook behind his thighs. In one smooth motion, he lifted Stiles against his chest.

Stiles gasped, protesting even as he wound his arms around Derek’s shoulders and pulled his legs up to circle his waist. 

Derek swiftly carried him to the bedroom, gently easing them onto the bed together. He kept Stiles in his lap, unwilling to part even for a breath.

A low growl rumbled out as Stiles tucked his face into the crook of Derek’s neck, moaning against the coarse hair of his beard. He breathed him in like he was starving, scenting Derek as if it were instinct written into his bones.

Stiles ground down just enough to blur Derek’s vision, lips grazing against his skin. “God, you smell so good.”

Derek shook his head in amazement. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“I know enough,” Stiles chuckled.

A tremor raced through him, a groan slipping past his lips as he reached to peel Stiles’ jacket away, fingers brushing the lean muscles beneath the fabric. 

His hands shook, caught between desire and restraint, and his claws flicked out accidentally, snagging the edge of the jacket and tearing a small hole before it slipped to the floor.

“Jesus, Derek!” Stiles laughed, eyes sparkling as his fingers went to the top of his shirt, unfastening the first few buttons himself. Then he raised his arms, giving Derek better access with a grin that dared him to keep going.

Instead, Derek froze, the torn fabric clutched in his palm, embarrassment flashing across his face.

He really hadn’t meant to let his claws slip out.

Stiles noticed his hesitation and nudged their foreheads together. “I’m okay,” he whispered, giving him a small, reassuring smile.

Derek caught Stiles’ steady amber gaze, his own eyes flaring red with the wolf beneath his skin. But Stiles didn’t flinch—calm, trusting, and completely open to him in a way Derek felt he didn’t deserve.

He drew a slow breath, letting his lips trail along Stiles’ chest and collarbone, tasting the warmth of his skin. Stiles arched slightly, a quiet moan of pleasure escaping him.

Derek couldn’t wait. He shifted, bracing Stiles’ weight as he rolled them over. He pulled back to let his hands trace gently over Stiles’ arms and torso, lingering over every small detail.

The feeling of Stiles beneath him, the steady beat of his heart, made it almost impossible to focus on anything else.

“Don’t rub too hard,” Stiles said, a playful spark dancing in his eyes. “You already ruined my jacket.”

Derek chuckled softly, dropping a kiss to Stiles’ temple. “Maybe I’m just excited to claim what’s mine.”

A shiver ran through Stiles, and he hummed, wrapping his arms around Derek’s back. “I think you should’ve already claimed me.”

The air between them thickened, warmth pooling wherever they touched. Derek lowered his head, capturing Stiles’ mouth in another kiss. Their tongues met in gentle exploration, teasing and learning what felt good.

Stiles’ hands drifted over Derek’s shoulders, down his back, tracing the ridges of muscle. Derek responded with light, reverent touches across Stiles’ chest, thumbs tracing over skin, drawing quiet whimpers from him.

Derek leaned closer, loving the way Stiles melted into him. It felt like he completely surrendered and trusted him.

“I love you,” Stiles whispered against his lips, voice thick with longing.

Derek paused, the words rolling over him, soft but powerful. “I… I love you too,” he breathed back.

For a long moment, Derek just looked at Stiles, memorizing the sharp curve of his jaw, the soft rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair clung damp to his forehead. 

Every teasing glance, every almost-kiss, every quiet hour spent together—dragging him around, sharing small touches—had led to this.

“You know,” Stiles said after a moment, “your eyes never stop glowing red when you’re turned on.”

Derek ran a hand over his face, snorting despite the burn of desire stirring in his stomach. “I usually control it,” he admitted, voice almost sheepish.

“You don’t have to control the Big Bad Wolf this time,” Stiles’ assured, tracing the line of Derek’s jaw. “I like him.”

Derek smiled, playfully tugging at the ends of Stiles’ hair. “Good, because I don’t think I want to hold back anymore.”

Derek felt Stiles settle into him, the steady motion of body against body scattering every thought. His chest throbbed with a quiet ache, a need that wasn’t just about hands or lips. 

Stiles tossed his head back, letting out a soft whine that vibrated against Derek’s collarbone. The sound made him dizzy, made him want to hold the moment forever without moving. 

Without doing anything but existing together. 

Heat pooled low, insistent and stubborn, tempered by the strange, sweet relief of being able to have this. They moved together in a rhythm that started slow, as if they were afraid to break the moment by rushing it.

Their breaths tangled, uneven and close, every touch carrying the weight of what they confessed. The ache that had lingered between them broke open, pulling them closer, faster. There was nothing left but the press of bodies and the desperate grip of holding on.

The world fell away to the rush of pleasure that tore through them, leaving them clinging to each other, unsteady and undone, but finally together.

Stiles nuzzled in after, a genuine smile on his lips. “I could stay like this forever.”

“Me too,” Derek agreed.

He rested his head on Stiles’ chest, hand moving in small circles over his heart as his eyelids became heavy, muscles finally letting go. The doubt that had clung to him for so long faded, now replaced by the steady, undeniable certainty of Stiles in his arms.

A sharp ping cut through the quiet. Derek’s ears twitched, but he barely opened his eyes. Stiles groaned, wriggling just enough to fish his phone out of his slacks. 

“Really?” He muttered, tapping at the screen. 

Derek let out a soft, amused sigh, staying wrapped around Stiles even as curiosity nudged at the edges of his sleep. “Hm?”

“Bunch of idiots who can’t mind their business, that’s all,” Stiles giggled, his free hand ruffling Derek’s hair like he was some kind of dog. Maybe it was a werewolf thing, but Derek didn’t really mind.

A dozen buzzes followed, each one a reminder that the pack was fully awake—and fully ready to bother them. 

Stiles leaned into Derek, scrolling through the messages with a sleepy grin. Derek’s body relaxed completely against him, every tension he usually carried slipping away as he breathed in Stiles’ comforting scent. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease. Safe in a way that made him want to stay like this forever. Within seconds, Derek’s eyes fluttered shut, surrendering completely to sleep. Stiles nuzzled closer, a soft chuckle escaping him as the notifications buzzed on.

………

PACK ATTACK 🐺 

Today 9:15 PM

Batwoman: okay but…

Batwoman: can we just circle back to the way DEREK CUPPED STILES FACE!!

Batwoman: THE FOREHEAD THING??

Queen Lydia: I’m still emotionally compromised. I need a cigarette and I don’t even smoke.

Scotty 2 Hotty: i’m rewatching the video and stiles is literally blushing thru his ears

Scarf Boy: dereks smile?? since when do we get smiles

Big Guy: He looked happy.

Big Guy: That’s… cute..

Scarf Boy: ok wow now its Boyd saying feelings. im calling the cops

Pete the Creep: If anyone wants a screenshot of Derek inhaling Stiles’ neck like oxygen, I’ve enhanced it. For science.

Malicious: um thats kinda gross. lemme see

Kanima Kardashian: Ur not allowed to say “inhaling Stiles’ neck” ever again

Queen Lydia: This freak. Blocked. Reported.

Pete the Creep: You’ll be back. You always come back.

Batwoman: but LISTEN

Batwoman: remember a few months ago when stiles “accidentally” tripped into derek’s lap at movie night

Scotty 2 Hotty: TRIPPED?? HE SLOWED DOWN

Queen Lydia: He lowered himself into it. That was premeditated lap crime.

Kanima Kardashian: I’d commit lap crimes for Derek too tbh

Cora the Destroya: Ur all insufferable

Cora the Destroya: But also I have screenshots and I’m opening a google drive folder for future blackmail

Stiles: No

Stiles: Whatever this is, no

Batwoman: i’m just saying

Batwoman: did u fuck

Stiles: ERICA

Stiles: He’s literally LAYING ON ME RIGHT NOW

Stiles: He fell asleep. Did a thorough job tho and tired himself out 

Scotty 2 Hotty: omg did u even get him to a BED??

Stiles: Duh, he carried me 🤷🏻‍♂️

Scarf Boy: that’s so romantic

Kanima Kardashian: So… not that I care, but was it a pre-nap or post-nap situation

Pete the Creep: Or intermission.

Queen Lydia: Jackson, why are you suddenly so interested in Stiles’ extracurriculars?

Cora the Destroya: This is what we get for letting love happen

Stiles: I hate all of you

Stiles: Also he’s snoring softly. It’s upsettingly cute

Pete the Creep: Record it for evidence.

Kanima Kardashian: What if we play it backwards and it’s just him whispering “Stiles” over and over

Scarf Boy: im unwell

Batwoman: if ur not gonna FaceTime us then at least let us hear one snooze

Stiles: Absolutely not

Stiles: Y’all are sick

Today 11:30 PM

Sourwolf: youre all idiots

Sourwolf: dont you have better things to do

Scotty 2 Hotty: OH MY GOD

Queen Lydia: Finally, I was waiting for you to wake up.

Batwoman: how far did u scroll back 😭

Sourwolf: far enough

Cora the Destroya: Stiles say something if ur being held hostage via cuddles

Stiles: I’m not saying anything. I’m never saying anything again

Kanima Kardashian: Coward

Big Guy: They’re in love. Let them rest.

Malicious: im sure theyre doing a lot more than resting 

Pete the Creep: Let’s regroup at dawn.