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I Will Love You (For a Thousand Years)

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Heart beats fast

Colors and promises

How to be brave

How can I love when I'm afraid to fall

But watching you stand alone

All of my doubt, suddenly goes away somehow



Okay, first of all, Stiles would like to say that he didn’t forget to propose on purpose.

He’d had it all planned out. 

Stiles had kicked all of the betas out of the Hale house and rigged up the back porch with hanging lights. He’d made Allison come over and help him with dinner because for some reason the female hunter had some mad cooking skills when it came down to things. Hell, he’d even swung by the Beacon Hills favorite bakery and picked up some of those brownies that Derek claimed to hate but was secretly a sucker for.

And Stiles would like to say things had gone spectacularly. Just… maybe a little too spectacularly.

Because at the end of the night after Derek had given him a death glare regarding the brownies, they’d proceeded to make out on the back porch and then things had… heated up. Stiles had totally planned on proposing when the moon was full and the dessert was eaten, but he hadn’t accounted for Derek offering to make other uses of the chocolate syrup. And Stiles was more than willing to admit that when it came down to the man and his shirtless body, Stiles had no more room left to think straight.


Which might have been how he woke up the next morning after mindblowing sex having completely forgotten he hadn’t proposed. For all that he could remember, things had gone great. No, things had gone spectacularly.

Stiles was a mad genius and he’d hit his peak multiple times to prove it.

He decided to get started on the wedding plans right away the next morning. Derek was in the kitchen wearing only his boxes when Stiles plodded into the room and he felt like that was completely unfair. If he wasn’t still half-dead to the world out of exhaustion, he might have gone for a round two on the counter right there.

As if the werewolf could read his thoughts, the man turning around with a smug grin. Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed the man’s mug of coffee, chugging half before dropping down on one of the stools in front of the counter.

“I have no brain today and I blame you.”


“Stop looking so smug, Sexwolf. I still have to go to work and make plans, and now I’m going to be half-awake doing all of it.”

Derek raised a brow at him. Stiles rolled his eyes. “You could help you know.”

“Which plans?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m thinking about starting with flowers first. Lydia will be a giant help through this entire thing but you know, we can’t give her total control. Unless you’re fine with roses, wine, salmon, and possible doves, that is.”

Derek just gave him a flat look. Stiles groaned, burying his face in his arms.

“You’re going to make me do this all myself, aren’t you?”

“Sure, Stiles, whatever you say.”

“Just throw me a bone here, dude. What’s your favorite flower?”

Derek actually thought about that for a second, but not after giving Stiles another strange look. Then he shrugged and rolled back his shoulders, returning to his skillet of scrambled eggs. “Orchids. They used to be Laura’s favorite.”

Stiles felt his resolve soften. He smiled up at the werewolf through his arms and Derek’s ears turned red. He very pointedly didn’t meet Stiles’s eyes, flipping off the stovetop.

“Just don’t let Lydia do… whatever she’s doing. I don’t think I like it.”

“So you’re not a wine person. Noted.”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Care to make me, Sexwolf?”

The man gave him a flat look and gestured with the spatula. “Go get ready for work or I’ll never ‘make you’ do anything again.”

“Does that include laundry?”

“Work, Stiles, go.”

Stiles grinned and grabbed his gun and badge, before turning back toward the bedroom. He was pretty sure he could figure how to get orchids. Of course, he knew nothing about making wedding plans, but that’s what Lydia was for, wasn’t it? Stiles was going to adore her these next few months.

The next few months. Because he had proposed. He was getting married.

Stiles grinned brightly to himself.

See, the thing was, they couldn’t afford rings yet. As a result of Derek’s unfortunate life savings being the loft, the rebuilding of the Hale house last summer, and Stiles’s training to become a deputy under his dad’s line, that wasn’t really something they could afford right now.

But Stiles had prepared for last night by going over and over his lines. In fact, he’d said them so many times, it felt like he’d asked Derek to marry him more than once.

Even though last night got a little hazy after they’d taken out the expensive whiskey. And then there was everything that had happened after that, of course. Stiles decided he needed to invest in chocolate sauce more often.

The station was silent as Stiles wandered into it. The deputies were all watching him and his dad stood behind his desk, a cup of coffee in hand and a nervous expression on his face. Stiles kept his own expression neutral as he crossed the room, took the coffee cup from his dad and downed half of it.

The man’s face paled. Stiles lowered it again, wiped the back of his mouth, and then grinned.

“He said yes!”

Cheers rolled through the station. Stiles’s dad grinned and pulled him in close and Stiles made a startled noise before melting into the embrace. He smiled against his dad’s chest, heart warm.

“Thanks, pops.”

“You treat that boy right, okay, kid?”

“I don’t think Derek’s been a boy for a long time.”

The Sheriff pulled back and studied Stiles’s face. Stiles chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. The man’s face softened. 

“I’m just saying. Take care of him.”

“Of course, dad. Always.”

“Good,” the man said, hugging him again. “And don’t worry, I’ll be telling Derek the same thing.”

“Don’t you dare!”

The Sheriff just laughed, grabbing one of the celebration— or possible comfort, if things had gone wrong— donuts off Stiles’s desk before heading toward his office. Stiles yelped and set his coffee down, stumbling after the man, but his dad didn’t even look back.

Things continued to go downhill from there.

See, Stiles had made a list. A Lydia Martin approved list that was sure to make Stiles stressed, Lydia proud, and Derek very tired. But Derek seemed completely at ease. One day turned into two, Stiles kept at it with the wedding plans, and Derek seemed to be the only one of them that wasn’t completely freaking out.

Stiles dropped onto the table across from him one coming weekend and nearly passed out right there. He was so tired . He was never having a wedding again.

Well, he supposed that was the plan.

“Tomorrow,” he said, blinking at Derek blearily. “We’re going cake tasting.”

Derek stopped eating his dinner and glanced up, raising an eyebrow. Stiles groaned, burying his face in his arms.

“Don’t give me that look, Sourwolf, and please don’t argue with me. I’m much too exhausted to come up with any good counterpoints right now.”

“You want to go cake tasting.”



“Because I said so and I’ve been having cravings ever since this entire thing started. I think it’s the stress. Or maybe I just really want to eat cake.”

“I could make you a cake, Stiles.”

Stiles snorted. “I know. And I love you and your cakes, Sourwolf, but I’m looking for a professional. And don’t you get all offended or anything now. But the day is going to come quicker than you think and we’re both going to be too stressed to make a cake. It’ll be easier to have a professional do it.”

Derek was silent. When Stiles glanced up from his arms, the man was watching him with a completely blank expression. Stiles sighed.

“Please? For me?”

“... Fine.”

“You do love me!”

Derek snorted but Stiles continued to grin. He grabbed his notebook full of checklists and wandered out of the room, texting Lydia that little by little, they were getting things figured out. She seemed to be more stressed than the two of them and when Lydia Martin got stressed, everybody should fear for their lives.

He got a brisk “Good” as an answer and figured that was something, at least. Little by little, they were figuring this all out.

Come next morning, Stiles was more than ready to eat some cake. Derek still seemed to be in a dubious mood, but Stiles figured that was because he just lived off of protein powder and raw meat. The man claimed to hate brownies, dammit. Stiles was so going to make him eat cake for their freaking wedding.

The bakery was small and family-owned. They’d known the Stilinski family from the moment they’d moved into Beacon Hills, as Stiles’s dad was always trying to sneak down there and buy a dozen cookies or so. Stiles had to threaten to put up surveillance cameras of his own, which he was promptly told was illegal.

Whatever. Anything to keep his dad from eating sugar on his lunch breaks.

The woman already had two tables filled with cakes and Stiles honestly thought he could swoon. He jabbed Derek in the side and then pointed toward the cakes, his mouth watering. “Those, Derek. I want all of those.”

“You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“But Derek, look how delicious they look.”

“If you get a stomach ache, I don’t want to hear any complaining tonight.”

“You’re no fun. Margret! Can we eat?”

The woman laughed, pushing a plate into his hands. Stiles didn’t care that this wasn’t ‘fancy’ or ‘expensive’ or whatever. They were on a budget, this bakery had the best cakes Stiles had ever tasted, and he so planned on giving himself a stomach ache tonight.

Stiles worked through the equivalent of two cakes. Derek took modest bites even though Stiles caught his eyes practically roll into the back of his head when he took a bite of the devil’s food one. He grinned to himself.

“So, devil’s food, huh?”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“I’m just saying,” Stiles said, grinning. “I’m totally okay with having a chocolate cake.”

“Having a chocolate cake? An entire one?”

“Uh… yeah? And I mean, sure, yeah, what even is white frosting on a chocolate cake but you know what? I’m flexible.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles grinned and leaned closer, tracing his fingers up the man’s chest, much to the burning red of Derek’s ears.

“You know I’m flexible.”

“Okay,” Derek said, shoving himself up. He gave Stiles a dark look and then offered Margret a polite smoke. “Thank you for the… cake. Stiles, I’ll be waiting outside.”

Stiles cackled as the man stalked out of the bakery, pushing himself up too. Margaret shook her head as Stiles turned toward her, a fond look dancing across her lips. 

“You caught yourself a good one, Mischief.”

Stiles smiled warmly, glancing over his shoulder and back out the window. Derek had his hands stuffed into his pockets and Stiles could’ve sworn he could still see the red of the man’s ears. 

“I did, didn’t I?”

“So, did you two decide?”

“Devil’s food,” Stiles said, looking over at the cakes. “He’s got a favorite.”

Margaret smiled and nodded. Giving her a quick hug, Stiles hurried out of the bakery and linked his arm through Derek’s, grinning brightly at the man. Derek just rolled his eyes, reaching over and rubbing a smudge of chocolate from the corner of Stiles’s lip. Stiles grinned brighter as the man dipped his thumb into his mouth and then smirked, pulling Stiles toward the Camaro.

“Come on, then. You can show me how flexible you are.”

A shiver ran down his spine and Stiles just laughed, letting Derek pull him along. Because yeah, he had caught himself a good one. He’d caught himself the best one. And everything was perfect.

Stiles just didn’t realize he hadn’t proposed yet.


So Stiles had flowers, a date, and nearly half of his list done. Lydia seemed happy, they had less than two months left, and Stiles had been working extra shifts to make up the money for the wedding rings. He was determined, dammit. And he was on a roll.

Peter, of all people, decided he would be taking care of the suits.

“I don’t trust you.”

Peter sighed, lounging on the couch and lowering his book. He peered across the room at Stiles, raising one eyebrow. “When did I get this reputation?”

“Do you really want me to go into detail?”

“Think of it like this, Stiles,” Peter said, leaning forward. “Would you rather deal with Derek going through hours of trying on suits, something that he hates, or would you rather he takes his frustrations out on his favorite uncle?”

Stiles bit down on his tongue, thinking about it for a second. Then, instead of answering, he slipped out his phone. Lydia had decreed that all decisions go through her and hell if Stiles wasn’t smart enough to know to listen to her before he did anything.

The woman answered in seconds.

“I’m working on getting the catering figured out, Stiles. What’s so important?”

“Peter wants to deal with the suits.”

Peter rolled his eyes from the couch and on the other side of the phone, Lydia was silent for a second. Then she sighed. “Does he have any experience? Is he going to mess this up?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Peter. He shrugged.

“I’m good.”

“He says he’s good.”

“Tell him if he does a single thing wrong, I’ll kill him for a second time.”

“She says—”

“I heard,” Peter said, returning to his book. Stiles frowned at the man for a moment before deciding to be honest, Peter could be the one to deal with Derek and suits. Not that Stiles didn’t appreciate Derek in suits, but the man was worse than a five year old when they went clothes shopping. Last time, Stiles had nearly brained himself on the nearest wall just because Derek had decided to turn his grumpiness level up to one hundred.

Lydia hung up and Stiles returned to the planning. He needed to talk to Derek about who he wanted to invite, he realized. The only thing Stiles was allowing was a plus one, but he was hoping they could keep it a small thing. A pack thing.

He mentioned that to Derek later. The man looked exhausted.


“... Yes, Stiles.”

“Have you been sleeping?”

Derek gave him a flat look and Stiles smiled nervously. But the man just returned to his dinner, muttering something unintelligible, and Stiles wondered if the panic of it all had finally caught up to him. It’d be about time. Stiles had been running around in circles for four months now while Derek had seemed unfazed.

Not like Stiles wanted him to be freaked out or anything. Freaked out Derek wasn’t good for anyone. Freaked out Derek had been Derek the first couple of weeks he’d finally asked Stiles out, and Stiles had decided then he would be the one proposing to Derek.

He couldn’t handle the man having another breakdown. And he meant that in the best way possible.

“So,” Stiles said, resting his chin on his hands. “Back to the small gathering then. I was thinking like… just the pack and family?”

“Okay, Stiles,” Derek mumbled, poking at his dinner tiredly. Stiles smiled softly and pushed himself up, moving behind the man and tracing gentle fingers over the back of his neck. Derek made a soft whining noise at the back of his throat and leaned into the touch and Stiles grinned, moving his fingers up to trace through Derek’s hair.

“Don’t worry about it right now, big guy,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you to sleep?”



“Love you.”

Stiles grinned and pressed a quick kiss to his temple, gently guiding Derek up. The man leaned against him as Stiles led him toward the bedroom, his chest growing warm. Because yeah, Stiles could figure these things out. He liked Derek relaxed. He liked the man at ease.

He loved it when everything around Derek was okay.

The weeks continued to stretch on and Stiles was practically giddy. Everything was going fine. They’d decided on having the ceremony behind the Hale house and Allison had promised to help with the decorations. Even the betas had stopped being pains in the asses in order to help and for once, Stiles could say he didn’t totally hate them.

Erica dragged him out suit shopping while Peter dealt with Derek. When Stiles came home that night, Derek seemed even more fidgety than usual and he offhandedly mentioned his uncle being an idiot and ‘messing in affairs that weren’t his own’ but Stiles just chalked that up to Peter being his usual creeperwolf self.

Then the day came that there was less than two weeks left and Stiles felt like he could’ve buzzed out of his skin. Derek didn’t seem to be around the loft as much, which Stiles was okay with. There was so much going on, the last thing he wanted to do was stress the man out.

He had decided to pick up the rings the day before the wedding. Because Stiles had nearly scraped together enough, despite his dad and Melissa saying they could put some money into the payment. Stiles was determined to earn it himself. This was the start of his new life— his and Derek’s. And he was going to start it out right.

Derek came to him one night with a jar of chocolate sauce, a small smile on his face, and Stiles could have melted. Because this was the man he was marrying, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Derek Hale.

Derek seemed much more laidback after that. Stiles still felt like he was about to buzz out of his skin.

But then one night, with less than a week to go, Derek didn’t come back to the Hale house. He was gone all day, gone late in the night, and by morning, Stiles was still sleeping in a cold bed.

So he’d grabbed Scott, shoved him in the passenger side seat of his jeep, and had the boy sniff Derek out until Scott pointed him toward the cemetery. Then Stiles had kicked Scott right back out of the jeep, parked a few hundred yards away, and approached the man quietly.

To his surprise, Derek wasn’t standing in front of his parent’s graves or his sister’s. He was standing in front of the grave belonging to Stiles’s mom.

Stiles paused for a long moment, just staring. Quietly, Derek shifted from foot to foot.

“I never got to meet her.”

Stiles swallowed hard, stepping toward the man’s side. Derek regarded the grave mournfully, a strange look of vulnerableness on his face. Stiles swallowed hard. “She would’ve liked you.”

“Would she have?”

Stiles tilted his head, studying the man. Derek didn’t meet his gaze.

“Derek, she would’ve loved you.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Derek said softly. “I’ve done a lot of bad things in the past, Stiles.”

Stiles stared at the man in shock. His throat was slowly closing and panic creeped in a shiver up his spine. Because this wasn’t Derek’s way of stopping the wedding, was it? This wasn’t him getting cold feet? Stiles took the man’s hand and Derek still avoided his gaze, brows knitted together.

“Derek, I love you. That’s all that matters.”

“Everyone that’s ever been around me has gotten hurt, Stiles.”

It hit him like a blow to the chest. Stiles nodded and carefully let go of Derek’s hands. The man made a soft whining noise and instead, Stiles reached up, touching his chin. He carefully guided Derek to face him and then leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against his lips.

“Derek, I love you. You’re mine, remember?”


“Yeah, big guy,” Stiles said quietly. “And I’m yours.”


Derek’s eyes were closed when he pulled back. As if he was holding onto each word. Stiles swallowed nervously, tracing gentle fingers over the man’s cheek and brushing the pad of his thumb over his lower lip.

“I love you, Derek.”

Grey-green eyes fluttered open. Derek looked at him for a long moment and then moved forward, catching Stiles’s lips with his own again. A hand tangled through his hair, pulling him closer, and Stiles grinned softly.

They stayed there until the sun had fallen over the tips of the trees. Then slowly, Stiles led Derek back to his jeep and kissed the man one more time before moving around toward the driver's side. He paused for one more moment though, glancing back out at the graveyard.

“You’d love him, mom.”

The long and still silence was his answer. Stiles smiled softly though, climbing into the car.

Derek’s eyes were fixed out the window the entire ride home.


Stiles liked to watch Derek when he was sleeping. Not in a creepy way— oh my god— but the man’s face was always softer when he slept. He looked years younger, as if nothing from the past had ever happened. Stiles would trace his fingers over the man’s face and just quietly wonder.

Wonder if he would ever see Derek like that when he was awake. Wonder what Derek would look like if some of the things that had happened, hadn’t.

Stiles would wonder if he’d ever be enough to make those lines go away.

Tonight was no different. Stiles rolled onto his side, looking at Derek’s face half-buried in the pillow. More than anything, he wished he could ease that slight crease between his eyes. Stiles wished he could fix the way Derek’s fists would clench into the sheets, he’d make soft noises underneath his breath, and sometimes wake up with sweat on his neck and chest.

Stiles hoped that one day, he could fix all of that. He could make all the pain go away.

Grey-green eyes slowly flicked open. Stiles instantly closed his own, trying to calm his breaths, and then Derek’s huffing breaths warmed his face.

“You’re doing it again.”

Stiles didn’t move. Barely breathed. Derek sighed.


“... I’m not doing anything again.”

“Yes, you are.”


“That creepy thing you do when you watch me sleep.”

Stiles’s eyes snapped back open and he glared at the man. Derek grinned, looking smug, and Stiles frowned even harder. “I don’t do creepy things, Sourwolf. That’s all you and your window stalking.”

“I haven’t done that in years.”

“That’s because we’ve been together for years.”

Derek’s face softened. “Yeah,” he said softly, searching Stiles’s face. “I guess we have.”

“It’s not creepy.”

“Sure, Stiles.”

“It’s sweet and you better love me for it.”

“I do love you,” Derek said, a strange note to his voice that Stiles couldn’t catch. The man’s face was suddenly unreadable and Stiles’s breaths caught in his throat. “If I asked you something, Stiles…”

“Yes, I did have onion rings before bed, shut up.”

Derek rolled his eyes and the expression on his face faded. Suddenly, he was the Derek that Stiles knew again. Grinning brightly, Stiles leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the man’s nose.

“Now go to sleep. We have a big day this weekend.”

“We do?”

“Shut up, you’re not funny.”

“For once, I’m not trying to be funny.”

Stiles just rolled his eyes, burying his face in Derek’s neck. The man made a rumbling noise at the back of his throat and didn’t say anything else, arms wrapped around Stiles’s shoulders and pulling him closer. And Stiles… Stiles was okay with all of this. Stiles was content.

Three more days and he could finally call Derek his own. 

His own Sourwolf.


“That’s not the right seating, Vernon!”

Stiles watched from the bedroom, peeking around the door every time Lydia yelled. He was pretty sure no one in the pack had ever called Boyd ‘Vernon’ but watching the beta’s expression go through a dozen emotions and Erica double over in laughter was totally worth it.

Normally, Stiles would be doubling over too. But he had a different problem.

Derek had left this morning and not come back.

Now, Stiles didn’t think Derek was the type to skip out on his own wedding. But if something had happened— if the man had freaked out— or Stiles had done something wrong? Maybe he finally had that breakdown. Maybe the last week at the cemetery had been a warning.

Maybe Stiles just wasn’t enough.

Scott had attempted to calm him down and Stiles had been pacing for the last hour. His dad had gone off to attempt and find the werewolf but so far, he didn’t seem to have had any luck. The Camaro was gone. Derek could be in a whole different state by now.

To say Stiles was panicking would be an understatement.

Every single time he thought about the fact that Derek had been missing for hours, he had another mini panic attack. Every single time he heard someone outside his bedroom door, he resisted the urge to crawl underneath the bed and curl up in a ball. To pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist. That this day hadn’t happened. 

Then Stiles’s pocket buzzed.

After a long moment, he fished out his phone and blinked at it. It was a message from Derek— and Stiles’s heart stopped.

It was a simple; Meet at your house. And Stiles was sure then that this was it. Derek had finally come to his senses and was going to turn him down.

Unable to make himself explain things to the rest of the pack, Stiles did the most logical thing. He pulled himself out of the window, all but dove into his jeep, and fled. He was pretty sure he could never come back. He could never face this house again.

Every single moment that he got closer to his house, Stiles felt his heart sinking more and more

By the time he was parked in front of his own house, looking silently at it, Stiles felt like his heart was about to be torn in two. He sat in the driver’s seat for a long moment and just stared. Just stared, feeling a little sick, his head spinning and his chest growing tighter and tighter with each breath.

Stiles had to force himself out of the car and up the driveway. And when the rest of the house was empty, he slowly plodded up the stairs into his own room.

Derek was waiting for him on his bed.

The man’s eyes flicked up the moment Stiles entered the room. His eyes searched Stiles up and down and he slowly stood, looking a little confused.

“You’re wearing a suit.”

“Yeah, dude.”

“It… looks good.”

“Derek,” Stiles said, his heart snapping. “Just get it over with, okay? Get it over with so I can leave. Please.”

The man stilled. His face dropped and the hand in his pocket slowly drew out. He moved closer, searching Stiles’s face, and then his eyes went over his suit again. “Am I missing something?”

“Missing something? Missing something? Dammit, Derek, you’re missing your own wedding!”

Derek froze. The concern melted from his face, replaced by confusion. Then the man’s eyes widened and he stared at Stiles for a long moment, before looking back at his suit. Then he stumbled away, sinking down onto the edge of the bed once more.

“Stiles, what?’

“Dammit, Derek, we're supposed to get married in three hours! What the hell happened? Are you freaking out? Did you never plan to go through with it in the first place?”

Stiles could feel his eyes filling with tears but he didn’t care. He couldn’t— he couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t lose Derek.

“I love you,” Stiles said. “You’re mine, remember?”

The man just stared at him. Swallowing hard, Stiles nodded and slipped the rings out of his pocket, letting them fall to the floor. 

“Sorry I’m not enough, Sourwolf.”

Stiles turned around to leave. And he would have. It would’ve been a dramatic exit that movies would’ve been proud of for years to come. Except then Derek was catching his arm and spinning him back around.

“Stiles,” Derek said, searching his face. “We’re not getting married.”

“I can see that, asshole.”

“No,” Derek said, slower this time. “You never asked me to get married. You never proposed, Stiles.” 

Stiles stared at him. Then he barked a bitter laugh, trying to shove the man back and squirm loose. But Derek’s hold tightened. He caught Stiles’s other hand, pressing his fingers against the pulse point underneath his neck, and held his gaze.

“Stiles, listen to my heartbeat. You never proposed.”

Stiles faltered. His heart dropped into his shoes and another panicked laugh built up in his throat. “Yes, I did. Dammit, Derek, yes I did! That night with the brownies! The home-cooked meal! The lights and the chocolate sauce, dammit!”

“You never proposed, Stiles.”

And suddenly, it hit him like a brick. That night. The food, the drink. Dancing to no music on the back porch and kissing underneath the moonlight. It had been perfect. Everything had been perfect.

Except Stiles had never proposed.

His knees buckled underneath him and he dropped to the floor, Derek barely catching his weight before he hit. The man slowly lowered him down, cupping Stiles’s chin and searching his face, but Stiles was officially gone to the world. His mind was blank.

He had forgotten to propose.

“Oh my god,” he said quietly. “We’re not getting married.”


“How the hell did you never figure things out, Derek? Dammit, I’ve been preparing this wedding for months!”

Derek’s face twisted. His ears turned red. Slowly, he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I thought it was a thing. I thought you were making hints.”

“Hints? Hints? Derek, you have a suit! Flowers! We went cake testing!”

“You always go over the top!”

“Because I love you!”

Derek stared at him for a long moment. Then his lips turned into a small smile and he reached into his pocket, digging out a small black box. When he flipped it open, there was a pair of silver rings inside. Stiles’s heart stopped.

“I was going to ask you to marry me, Stiles.”

“... In my bedroom?”

The man’s face turned darker red. “I thought it was romantic.”

“Dude, I used to jerk off in here!”

“That’s not something I ever needed to hear out loud.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, dropping his face against Derek’s shoulder. The man smelled like leather and pine. Clearly, he’d cleaned up for this. “Oh my god, that’s why you were freaking out all week. You had that breakdown.”


“The one I was hoping to save you from.”

Derek pulled back, looking at him for a long moment. Then he shook his head and pushed Stiles up, staying on one knee. Slowly, he flipped the ring box back open, raising a brow. 

“Stiles Stilinski—”

“No,” Stiles said in a whine. “I wanted to be the one to propose.”

“You already had your chance.”

“But dammit, Derek, I’ve been planning this for months!”

The man sighed and pushed himself to his feet. Shoving the ring box back into his pocket, he cupped Stiles’s face and looked down at him. “Stiles, will you marry me?”

“Will you marry me?”


“... Oh. Well, then I suppose I will too.”

Derek rolled his eyes and kissed Stiles hard. He tasted like mint, smelled even better, and Stiles all but melted into the man’s embrace. Because yeah, this was no back porch proposal with chocolate sauce or brownies, but… He could survive.

Stiles could be okay with this.

“No one can ever know,” he said, pulling back. Derek rolled his eyes. 

“Of course not.”

“And… you’ll marry me.”

“Yes, Stiles.”

“Today? Like in three hours? Because I was pretty sure you skipped out on the wedding and maybe left town or something—”

Derek grabbed his tie and pulled him into a kiss again, effectively shutting him up. Stiles relaxed once more, feeling the man grin around his lips. “I do have a suit already, don’t I? Might as well put it to some good use.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”



“Right back at you, Stupidwolf.”


“Okay, that’s not fair.”

Derek just grinned and kissed him harder. And Stiles supposed that maybe— maybe— it was fair.

Just a little bit.



I have died everyday, waiting for you

Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more