Archive of Our Own

Stiles has been late coming home from work every day for the last few weeks.

Derek finds himself making excuses in his head; Stiles is busy, his new management position is taxing, he lost track of time and didn’t get a chance to call and explain that he’ll be running late. 

It all seems to match, if Derek tries to fit it into place. Multiple options for one missing puzzle piece.

Then why does Derek still feel so empty? So lost and unsure?

He knows he can be insecure, anxious and clingy and worried about Stiles. It comes with the territory of a new relationship, a healthy one. Yes, they’ve been together for around five years now, but it’s still new in the sense that Derek’s never had this before. Someone who cares about him this much, that makes time for him and tells him he loves him and thinks of him. Someone Derek feels safe with.

At least, Derek thought he had all that. But lately Stiles has seemed distant, frazzled, absentminded, not replying to Derek’s texts for hours, when he’s always responded within minutes before, no matter if he’s working or not.

Now when Stiles comes home, he wants to jump in the shower immediately, then go right to bed, not even cramming in the dinner that Derek left him, claiming he already ate at the office.

Derek tries to overlook all this, he really, really does, knows his mind can play tricks on him even in the best of times, but really, the situation doesn’t look good.

The wolf doesn’t let his mind go… there, to thoughts of… cheating and Stiles leaving him or simply forgetting about him completely, moving on before he even realizes that Derek’s still waiting after him. When those thoughts arise, he tries to stamp them out immediately, for his heart couldn’t bear it. He has more faith in Stiles than that, still.

He gets that Stiles is busy. He understands. Especially with the ADHD and Stiles’ own anxiety, he can lose himself in a project for days and barely even register Derek bringing him coffee and snacks until he breaks out of his hyperfixation at last.

But the way this feels, suddenly, like a boulder wavering on the edge of a cliff, threatening to fall into the pit of Derek’s stomach every time he thinks of Stiles and wonders where he is; this looming sense of dread, of heartbreak just around the corner, of paranoia and insecurity and too much space between them when once there was none — it’s something Derek hadn’t been prepared to face, didn’t think would ever happen. 

They’ve been through so much together, and the way Derek let himself fully trust Stiles, no small feat, drawn in by his honest, warm eyes, and even more truthful words, how his heart never skipped a beat around Derek, how the wolf bared his soul to Stiles time and time again because he thought he finally could, that he was safe here. 

The way Derek finally let himself think of his own future again, and how that future included Stiles.

The way Derek let himself get comfortable, and hope, and allow himself to finally be happy again.

Was it all for nothing?

If he had known — if his hunch is true — he’d never have let himself fall in so deep.

Never.

On the other hand. If Derek is making this all up in his head, it doesn’t erase how he feels, how Stiles is making him feel — that’s not true. No one can make Derek feel anything, unless they are shoving a rusty pipe through his guts. Emotionally, it’s up to Derek how he chooses to feel from other people’s actions. 

He doesn’t mean to be throwing a metaphorical tantrum over Stiles’ recent absence. He wouldn’t choose that for himself, it’s embarrassing, and beneath him, and it’s not how an alpha should be acting. It’s not how an adult should be acting.

Then why can’t he shake it off? The feeling that something isn’t right between them, that something’s changed, that maybe — Derek tries to avoid this train of thought as well, for it feels like an arrow through his chest — that Derek has done something to cause this, that it’s all his fault. Again.

So then, really, he has no reason to throw a tantrum. If he’s the one pushing Stiles away, if he’s not enough for the man, if Stiles… if Stiles doesn’t want him anymore. Well — that, Derek can understand. 

He knows they’re both reassurance-seekers. How can they not be, after all they’ve been through. And Stiles is so good about reassuring Derek, and it’s part of his charm, part of how Derek has let himself fall so deeply into Stiles’ arms time and time again, because Stiles makes him feel safe, and calls him petnames, and tells him he loves him, and kisses him, and doesn’t let go until he has to.

When it comes down to it, Derek doesn’t understand how all that could change so suddenly.

He’s tried to be good. Tried to do all the right things, and reassure Stiles back, and, even though it’s hard for the wolf, talk about his emotions and how hard it still can be to let Stiles in. 

He’s stayed up all night holding Stiles after nightmares, and talking him down after his father got sick again, and telling Stiles himself that he’s good, that his hands are not the ones who murdered so many people. That Stiles’ hands are pure and full of love and good intent.

Derek tries and tries and tries to be enough for Stiles, to show that he’s worthy of their relationship, that he understands that Stiles chose him right back, and that’s no small thing. Derek wants to honor that, and prove… himself. Every day he tries to prove himself, now more than ever, but.

It’s not working.

If it were, he’d feel it. Things would go back to normal. He won’t feel quite as much like a dog begging for attention at their owner’s feet, bringing them gifts and toys and sitting properly and obeying orders and whining when they mess up.

Derek hates himself a little for the comparison.

But it’s not inaccurate.

It’s proven with every rushed step Derek takes as he heads to the door of the loft, hearing Stiles jog up the stairs, his rapid heartbeat still soothing despite the unknowns and insecurity of the situation.

He greets Stiles at the door, a few feet away so as not to crowd him, metaphorical tail wagging nervously as he awaits Stiles’ response, anxious to see how Stiles will act towards him tonight. It’s almost midnight, and the leftovers are in the fridge by now, and he wonders idly if Stiles will be frustrated at him for that, if tonight is the one night he didn’t eat at the office, if he was counting on Derek to have the food ready for him at home.

Derek continues worrying. And worrying, and worrying.

Metaphorical-Stiles pats him on the head and spares him a glance as Derek sits at his feet, while Real-Stiles greets him.

“Hey, baby,” Stiles half-smiles, leaning in to kiss Derek’s scruffy cheek. All is well for now.

“Hey,” Derek responds, planning out every word so it’s just right, so he doesn’t make things… worse. “How was your day?”

“Exhausting,” Stiles sighs as he hangs up his jacket and sets down his briefcase, toeing his shoes off and loosening his tie. He doesn’t address the time, or his tardiness. Besides, he doesn’t owe Derek anything; not an explanation, or an apology, really. He doesn’t have a curfew, he’s an adult, for fuck’s sake.

“Anything I can do?” Derek asks, the earnest puppy inside him trying so very hard.

“Nah,” Stiles bats away, patting Derek’s cheek with what would be a fond smile, if things were like normal, like before. Now, Derek can’t tell anymore. “Might just hit the shower, then go to bed.”

Stiles strolls into the room, rubbing his eyes with clear exhaustion. He yawns and makes his way towards the bathroom.

“Want company?” Derek offers, on thin ice with even himself. 

“Baby, I appreciate it, but I can hardly stand right now, let alone get it up,” Stiles apologizes, and Derek stares at his retreating back while the boulder behind his ribcage tips even closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Okay,” Derek nods, not pushing it. 

He strips and settles into bed after a moment, but, lost in his head, doesn’t remember getting there. 

Stiles joins him after a while. His skin is warm and damp from the shower, and he cuddles up to Derek, laying on top of him with a sigh, and kisses his mouth once. He passes out immediately, after a mumbled, “Goodnight,” while Derek stares at the ceiling and holds on tightly to Stiles. 

He doesn’t sleep a wink.

The next night is much the same. Derek has distracted himself all day with his own work at the mechanic’s, and focusing on what his hands are doing helps to get him out of his head.

It’s when he’s at home, all alone, idle and listless and edgy, that it all catches up to him again. He can only avoid the thoughts for so long.

Stiles comes home close to midnight again, and Derek meets him at the door, and gets up the courage to say the words he’s been meaning to for days. Stiles doesn’t notice, but Derek shakes a little as he says them, like his world is about to change or he’s going to mess things up completely by begging for attention, and he really shouldn’t be saying them anyway, he’s far too needy and insecure and—

“I missed you,” Derek says against Stiles’ neck as they embrace, so he doesn’t have to see Stiles’ face.

What he wants to say, though, is, I miss you. Present tense.

“I missed you too, Der,” Stiles sighs, a dead weight in Derek’s arms. “I’m so tired. So overwhelmed with everything at work. I know I signed on for it, and it’s worth it, but fuck.”

Derek understands, he does. 

The weight in his chest doesn’t, though.

He wants to say, Come back to me. Wants to kiss Stiles like how they used to, with passion and excitement and lust, wants to feel Stiles’ smiling mouth against his own, wants reassurance without having to ask for it, wants Stiles to talk to him without prodding.

Wants Stiles.

Wants to ask how long Stiles intends for this to go on for, both his hectic work schedule and his relationship with Derek. Needs to plan out just when one or the other is expected to end, so he can know how long he’ll be tormented for. Even if it’s his own doing. The reassurance is the light at the end of the tunnel, even if the tunnel is long and dark and pressing in on him on all sides.

“I hope it gets better soon,” Derek says instead.

“Me too,” Stiles replies wearily, and their lips meet again, finally, and Derek savors every millisecond. It’s over too soon, though, before Stiles escapes to the bathroom and Derek waits for him alone in bed. Again.

“I miss you,” he whispers aloud to the empty room. “Where are you?”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” Stiles says the next night, much to Derek’s surprise. Stiles sinks against him in the entryway and Derek clings back tightly, taking all he can get. 

He presses a kiss to Stiles’ shoulder, stalling for time. He must say his next words correctly, perfectly. To make Stiles stay. So Derek will look good in his eyes. So Stiles will still love him.

“It’s okay,” is all he manages. 

“I knew you’d understand,” Stiles says against Derek’s hair, but it’s hard to hear over the sound of Derek’s heart breaking.

If he speaks up, he’ll lose Stiles. Neither of them are good at confrontation, and it’s so easy to run away from something you don’t want to deal with, or are unable to handle. There’s no way Derek can say how he really feels. Even if Stiles understands, how needy and clingy and annoying would Derek look, admitting how Stiles is affecting him, how fucking codependent Derek is being?

So he keeps his mouth shut and takes what he can get.

The next night, Derek tests the waters again, his own reassurance-seeking desperation betraying him, as words leave his mouth that he didn’t okay.

“I love you,” he calls after Stiles before the bathroom door closes. Derek never thought he’d be jealous of his shower before.

“Love you too,” is what comes back, and the needy, jealous monster inside Derek is abated for the time being.

He shuffles back against Stiles in bed, begging without words for Stiles to hold him, to soothe him, to prove to him that he’s still here. Stiles wraps his tired arms around Derek easily, but Derek doesn’t sleep for fear of missing this, if this is one of the last times he will feel Stiles’ touch, his security and his love. 

When they wake, Derek waits until Stiles kisses him good morning, the dopamine of the reassurance making its way to his brain, as he sadly watches Stiles slip into the shower again and then get dressed in his clothes that separate his life from Derek’s. 

They never talk anymore. They don’t have time. Derek has no clue what Stiles is caught up in at work. Probably some big case, catching a terrible criminal, and saving the world is more important than Derek any day, the wolf knows this. He’s not begging for all of Stiles’ attention. 

Just a little of it.

Please.

A hurricane of anxiety follows Derek everywhere, now. It wraps around him and sucks him in and everywhere he looks is through a haze of insecurity, paranoia and grief and fear. He tries to talk back to his thoughts, but the worry is too strong.

He knew not to get attached again. It’s his fault for falling so deep, after all.

He thinks of all he wants to say to Stiles, if he had the courage to. Which he doesn’t.

Derek wants to write them down, get them out so they’re not swirling around in his head over and over, torturing him and hurting him and mocking him. He feels so powerless against the situation, against his own thoughts.

On one hand, how wondrous is it that he can feel this strongly for another person. How beautiful is it that Stiles can have such an impact on him, can complete his life and his existence so thoroughly, can be the thing that saves him over and over, that gives him hope and home and love and happiness.

On the other hand, it’s all too easy to take away, along with Stiles.

I miss you, Derek begins, easily, hunched over the floor against the side of the couch while the minutes tick onward, and he knows by now that Stiles won’t be home for another few hours.

It feels almost invasive already to be writing to Stiles, if only in his imagination. He physically writes the words on a scrap piece of paper, intending to tear it up after, but he already feels like he’s doing something wrong by expressing himself, his feelings and his needs and his anxiety. It’s all wrong, wrong, wrong. He’s wrong.

I don’t know what’s happening, he continues, scrawling, scribbling so his writing is almost disguised, so even he can hardly read what he’s putting down. If he can’t read it, it won’t be real.

I don’t understand why you’re pulling away. What I did. I thought I was doing everything right. I thought we were in love. Don’t you love me? I know you’re overwhelmed, and your work is important, and you’re helping lots of people. But it feels like you’re forgetting me, and I know I sound whiny and annoying and needy and stupid, and that’s not what you signed up for. 

I thought that even if you were busy, you would still have time for me. You would still remember me. I thought I mattered more to you.

But I miss you. And I can’t tell you that because then I’ll sound even weaker. And I know that’s not what you want, either.

You deserve someone better, who matches you, who’s not so fucking codependent, who doesn’t get anxious at the slightest thing, who’s not so fucked up and traumatized. You deserve so much, Stiles, and sometimes I think I can be the one to give it to you, but sometimes not. 

I just wish I knew what was going through your head, but it’s fine. I know you don’t owe me anything. 

I don’t know how I got you in the first place. I don’t know why you chose me. I’m too much, I know that, and you don’t know how grateful I am for the time you spent loving me. Even if it has to end. It’s okay. I forgive you.

I love you, Derek scribbles, words blurring through his tears.

It feels like Stiles is forgetting him, simply put, and he doesn’t know what to do with all the combatting emotions swirling in his heart.

The boulder wavers, like a breath will send it over the edge.

It was just a few weeks ago that they were happy, going on date nights and watching stupid movies and making out on the couch like teenagers. The way Stiles looked at him was unlike how he looks at him now, if he even does. There’s glances here and there, through the exhaustion and bags weighing down Stiles’ pretty eyes, and more than anything, Derek is left with confusion, not understanding how and when things changed so quickly.

He guesses he didn’t realize how Stiles’ new position at work would affect him, would affect them both. It seems like too much to ask for the man to spend more time with him after his long hours, his too-little sleep and his draining energy. Derek’s expecting too much, he knows he is, but even back in high school, Stiles would cram for his classes and still manage to save Derek’s life twice a week. How could a job be much different?

He’s being so selfish, he knows he is, and it only adds to the swirl of guilt and shame settling in his rolling stomach. He doesn’t blame Stiles for pulling back. Who would want to deal with this much insecurity on a daily basis?

“Hi, sweetheart,” Stiles smiles as he slides open the door on a late Friday night. 

“Hi,” Derek echoes, speaking no more words than are needed. 

“How was your day?” Stiles asks, yanking off his coat as Derek hovers, back straight, shoulders tense, fists held determinedly by his side, so there’s no way he can portray how anxious he really feels.

“Long. Uh, fine,” Derek rushes to fix. However long his day was, he knows Stiles’ was longer.

“Mm, tell me about it tomorrow, okay?” Stiles kisses his cheek as he steps towards the bathroom again. That fucking bathroom. “I have the weekend off, finally, and I thought we could go out to dinner tomorrow,” Stiles calls as he walks backwards, meeting Derek’s wary eyes.

Dinner. A break-up dinner.

“Sure,” Derek agrees, voice flat and gravelly. He forces a smile. “I’d love that.”

“Great!” Stiles beams, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “It’s a date!”

The mixed messages are torturing and slowly killing Derek, perhaps worse than a wolfsbane bullet, and as the bathroom door shuts quietly, he slinks into bed and pulls the covers over his head, dreading Saturday like never before.

Usually they sleep in on weekend mornings, wake up late together and make love sleepily, then make out a bit more before they fall back asleep.

Derek can’t get his hopes up, though. So he lets Stiles sleep in by himself, and goes to make coffee, before he yanks on his running shoes and takes off towards the preserve. A bright yellow post-it note with his whereabouts is left for Stiles on the desk, right on top of his laptop, that he knows Stiles will open first thing.

The run helps to clear his head a little, like always, but in this case clearing his head means forcing him to take in all his surroundings and the burn of his lungs and the ache in his legs and the sound of the birds and people laughing and the smells of the forest and the hunger in his stomach, and what it feels like to run for miles and miles and miles. So that he doesn’t have a chance to think about Stiles.

When he slinks back home, it’s like awaiting his fate, and he hesitates before taking the stairs, climbing each one slowly to prolong the inevitable. 

The air is tense as he slides open the loft door, and Stiles is sitting at the desk, frowning at a shredded piece of paper he evidently retrieved from the trashcan by the desk.

“Der?” Stiles says sleepily, still in his pajamas. The sun is high in the sky outside the vast loft windows, and Stiles’ hair is mussed and messy, and Derek would think it was cute if his heart hadn’t just dropped all the way into his empty stomach. “What’s this?”

“Uh.” Derek falters, the room suddenly spinning just a little. “An old document I shredded. Don’t worry about it.”

Stiles sighs, meeting Derek’s gaze with his knowing eyes. “I didn’t mean to pry, okay? You know I’m too curious for my own good.”

Derek can’t breathe, anymore. His eyes are wide and his limbs are starting to shake.

“Baby,” Stiles starts, while tears burn in the back of Derek’s eyes, “did you write this?”

He shakes his head no, but Stiles sees through him.

“Don’t worry, I can’t make it all out, you sure got some claws on you,” he tries to joke, while getting up from the desk and coming closer. “But I read enough.”

Derek closes his eyes while his world ends around him.

“Is this really how you feel?” Stiles asks gently, a few feet away from Derek, now.

His head shakes no again, but Derek’s never been a good liar.

“Baby,” Stiles says again, pleading, voice distraught and saddened, now. “Derek, look at me.”

Derek shakes his lowered head once more, eyes clenched shut protectively, fists curled up by his side. His face and ears are flaming, and he might throw up.

“Derek.” Stiles’ voice is coming from right in front of him, now. “Sweetheart.” His warm palm curls around Derek’s cheek, and it’s the softest touch Derek’s gotten for weeks from him. A tear leaks from Derek’s closed eye down his face, and Stiles wipes it away with his thumb.

“My angel. Derek. I am so sorry. I swear I didn’t know. I had no clue how this was affecting you. I’m so sorry, I never meant for you to feel like this,” Stiles explains desperately, his other palm open on Derek’s chest as if to send his words straight through to Derek’s heart.

“Why didn’t you say anything, my love?” Stiles prods, nosing against Derek’s cheek, pale now in mortification and fear. 

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Derek whispers around his nausea, and it’s a good thing Stiles is so close, for he would not be able to hear him otherwise.

“Sweetheart, you could never lose me,” Stiles presses insistently, voice convincing, but still, Derek doesn’t believe him.

“I’m in this for life, I told you this,” Stiles reminds him gently.

“Things change,” Derek gets out. He still refuses to open his eyes.

“Yeah, but not us,” Stiles persists. “Don’t you know that you’re everything to me?” 

His heart doesn’t stutter. Derek dares to blink his eyes open, peering warily at Stiles’ own eyes, the man’s face wet with his own apologetic, remorseful tears. 

“I just — didn’t know what was happening,” Derek mutters, still so very unsure.

“You could’ve asked me,” Stiles exclaims, eyebrows drawn in and sad. He cups Derek’s perfect face in both his hands, now, brushing thumbs against his cheeks reverently. “I know we’re both kind of shitty at communication, but baby, you can talk to me about anything.”

Derek shakes his head, like he’s getting so used to doing. “Not this.”

“Der—” Stiles starts, before realizing he’s going about this the wrong way. It’s not Derek’s fault he’s so anxious and scared and putting all his hope and faith and love and devotion into Stiles, so much so that he’s afraid to bring up the rockiness of their relationship. It’s not Derek’s fault at all. None of it is.

“I am so, so sorry,” Stiles whispers again, face close. Their noses brush, but Derek can’t let himself hope again so quickly, can’t trust that this is real. “At dinner tonight—”

Derek flinches, and then he can see the gears turning even further in Stiles’ brain. “You thought I was gonna break up with you at dinner?”

Tears fill Derek’s eyes again, and he averts them, looking instead at their rumbled mess of sheets and blankets on the bed, thinking of how he laid there with Stiles’ arms around him, before the conflict, before the explosion, when everything was fine for the time being. Before the humiliation, before Derek was seen as weak, stupid, anxious, clingy, needy, desperate.

“Derek, my love, I was going to propose tonight. That’s why I’ve been working so much. I was saving up. I don’t have the ring yet, but I couldn’t wait any longer, I just wanted to ask you already.” Stiles laughs a little sadly through his tears, and more of them burn in Derek’s own eyes and creep down his cheeks without his consent. 

His eyebrows pinch together, and the boulder in his belly finally falls, down, down, down to somewhere he can’t reach. But Stiles catches it.

The floodgates open and Derek’s face crumples. Stiles tugs him forward and tucks his head into Stiles’ neck, where it should smell like them, but Derek’s scent is too weak on him now, and so Derek cries about that, too. 

Stiles forces him to wrap his arms around Stiles’ own body, cooing to him and petting his hair and pressing a warm palm to the back of his neck, murmuring reassurances. Telling him that everything’s okay, that Stiles loves him so very much, that he will never love anyone as much as he loves Derek, that Derek is absolutely everything to him, that he is so fucking sorry. 

His heart doesn’t skip even once, and so Derek makes the choice to believe him. It’s all the reassurance he’s wanted for weeks, all here in his arms, and he doesn’t know what to do with it all. But everything he’s been pushing down and ruminating over, everything that’s been making him sick with worry is all coming out now, as he confides in the one person he cares about most, who can always make everything better.

He has his Stiles back. And Stiles holds him and pets him and kisses him and whispers all the words of love that Derek has missed so dearly. Stiles explains about his ADHD and his hyperfixations and his absentmindedness and his exhaustion, but acknowledges that excuses don’t mean shit when his mate is suffering like this. 

He swears that it will never, ever happen again, that he will go out of his way every day to make Derek feel utterly loved and adored and revered, that there is nothing Stiles wants more than to make Derek feel like that, feel absolutely treasured. 

Because it’s everything he deserves, and Stiles’ heart almost bursts when he thinks of Derek every day, that it’s the only way he can make it through his workdays, and the extra hours. Knowing he’ll come home to Derek, sink into his arms in bed, buy him the perfect ring to bond them together, give Derek everything.

It’s all for Derek, but Derek had no idea.

Stiles keeps apologizing, and finally Derek kisses him to shut him up, for it makes him feel even guiltier. He almost cries again at the feeling of Stiles’ lips on his after too long, the way Stiles kisses him, proving how much he loves him, intensely and passionately. The kiss is wet with more tears from both of them, and Derek doesn’t know how they keep sneaking out of his eyes when he’s trying so hard to be brave and strong.

But now Stiles has seen him as weak, and still loves him anyway.

“I love you,” Stiles presses into his mouth, with his tongue and his lips and his breath and his words. “I love you, Derek.”

Derek can’t trust his voice yet to say it back, but Stiles knows, anyway. 

Stiles doesn’t end up proposing, today, doesn’t want either of them to remember anything about this day and how badly he had hurt Derek. He spends weeks attempting to make it up to him, waking up early to make him breakfast in bed, kissing him nonstop, inviting him into the shower with him after work no matter how tired he is, even if they don’t do anything but stand there under the water, washing each other, holding each other. 

He finally cuts his hours after a couple more weeks, Derek practically begging him to, saying he’ll pay for the ring if it means he can finally have Stiles to himself again. Stiles kisses him for that, too.

He can feel that Stiles is genuine in his remorse, can see the way Stiles looks at him like he can’t believe what he did. His gaze is soft when it’s directed towards Derek, but there’s a veil that betrays Stiles’ guilt. So Stiles is determined to keep making it up to Derek for as long as it takes.

It’s not the easiest for Derek to trust, again, full stop. In his life, in his relationships. He lets Stiles in, but sometimes his shoulders still tighten and his stomach drops when the clock ticks past when Stiles should be home. Everything is always okay in the end, and Stiles kisses him extra to make up for it, apologizing for the traffic and holding him extra long in the entryway. 

Derek tries his best to believe him, and it helps that his ears and nose don’t betray him. He can finally trust himself again, at least, and his interpretation of Stiles’ sincerity. There’s no denying the way Stiles looks at him, treats him, handles him like he’s made of glass, something precious to be treasured. 

Even now, Derek can’t believe anyone can feel that way about him, but he trusts Stiles, implicitly, still, and despite what they’ve gone through, the thought of Stiles cheating had hardly occurred to him.

He’s not afraid to say I love you, now, or I missed you, when Stiles comes home from work. Stiles greets him with the same sentiments, and wraps him up in his arms, rocking them both and not moving away until Derek does. He does everything he can to prove himself to Derek over and over, prove his love is true, prove he cannot and will not live without Derek, either.

Their make-up sex happens to be fantastic, and they melt into each other almost every night, and some mornings before work. Every time is full of love and adoration and reassurance, and they hardly stop kissing throughout, fingers interlaced and moans of pleasure echoing throughout the loft. The air is never stifled or tense anymore, and things might be even better than before… well, before.

Stiles still hasn’t proposed, yet, but Derek is patient, because really, it’s more than he ever thought he could have with Stiles, could earn. Doesn’t know what he’d do with all his feelings around seeing a potential ring on his finger. 

So their digits stay bare where they’re hooked together, and he lays back on their mattress while Stiles is determined to make him feel good, still atoning, still loving Derek, still here.

“Fuck,” Derek gasps as he throws his head back on the pillow. Stiles is sucking an invisible mark into his neck as he thrusts slowly in and out of him, making love to him, languorously but deeply. 

Their lips meet and Derek leans up to capture Stiles’ completely, Stiles kissing back enthusiastically. He sucks on Derek’s tongue and Derek can’t help but thrust his hips up, and it nudges Stiles in further, and they both break away to moan.

“Stiles,” Derek begs, but he’s not sure what he’s pleading for. The hand that’s not tangled with Stiles’ comes to wrap around Stiles’ shoulders, clutching him close, and sweat builds between both their bodies as their foreheads meet.

“I’m here,” Stiles soothes, voice broken and mouth open against Derek’s. “Shh, I’m here.”

The reassurance feels like a weight in Derek’s chest again, but a good kind, a weighted blanket, pressing him back against the mattress like Stiles himself on top of him, letting him sink completely, letting him float. He knows Stiles has got him, will catch him, will hold him. He trusts Stiles.

Derek’s legs twitch where they’re spread open, and he wraps them around Stiles’ waist, drawing him even closer.

“Need you,” the wolf huffs out, lingering shame be damned. His eyelids are half-closed and his mouth is parted; needy, wanting.

“You have me,” Stiles whispers, hips fucking in and out in a slow, steady, deep motion. His warm palm wraps around Derek’s thigh possessively.

Derek never wants this to end. He feels so safe, so loved, surrendering to his partner, his mate, and he thinks idly that they could exchange mating bites before the rings, if they wanted to. If — if that’s something Stiles would want, as well.

“Come on, baby,” Stiles breathes in his ear, biting the lobe as he pulls away. He doesn’t go far, his nose brushing Derek’s cheek and nuzzling a bit there. He kisses the skin wetly, hot air puffing out through his lips, and Derek feels claimed, wanted, loved.

“You first,” Derek insists breathlessly, his grip on Stiles’ hand tightening. “Wanna feel you.”

Stiles’ hips stutter. “Fuck, Der.”

“Exactly.”

Stiles huffs a laugh, but it turns into a moan as Derek tightens around him. “Love you,” he promises as his lips meet Derek’s again. They’re mostly just breathing against each other’s mouths by now, and Derek nips at Stiles’ bottom lip, biting it gently to keep him close, draw him nearer. As if it were even possible.

“Love you too,” Derek grins, smile a bit loopy as his fingers slide into Stiles’ hair. “Come in me,” he demands. “Make me yours.”

“You are mine,” Stiles swears truthfully, but when Derek rolls his hips down and tightens around Stiles again, Stiles can’t stave it off anymore. 

He comes in Derek with a choked moan, dipping his head into Derek’s neck as he pants and moves and thrusts. He bites gently at a cord in Derek’s throat, and Derek comes quickly afterwards like a bolt of lightning, Stiles working him through it with a sweaty hand stroking him.

They keep moving together for a few more moments, riding out their wave, whimpering and gasping and shivering. 

Stiles stills in him, and Derek is content, for once, with Stiles over him and in him and around him. His scent permeating the air and lingering on Derek’s skin itself. His own scent on Stiles, marking him, claiming him right back. The smell of their joined sweat and spunk and tears and pleasure in the room, the feeling of Stiles’ soft, hot skin touching his own, Stiles’ lips on his neck, on his jaw, on his mouth. Stiles’ fingers clutched in his like a promise, his other hand petting through his hair reverently.

Derek is happy, relieved, at peace, in love, reassured. Sated, relaxed, free of his whirlwind of thoughts for once, his overwhelming emotions. Derek is in bliss, getting everything he ever wanted.

Until.

“I have a question for you,” Stiles grins as they catch their breath, but he doesn’t move to pull out of Derek; only pats around till his hand finds the nightstand drawer.

Derek covers his eyes with a hand, cheeks heating up. “Now?!” he asks, mortified. “How are we going to tell this story to people?”

“How else? We had the hottest make-up sex ever, the slow bone, like totally sappy and sweet, and then I proposed, and you said yes, the end,” Stiles says as he retrieves a blue velvet box. Derek pointedly doesn’t look at it.

“I’m not telling that to your father.” Derek raises his eyebrows, but his heartbeat quickens in anticipation.

“Okay, you don’t have to. I will.”

“Stiles,” Derek whines, to Stiles’ cheeky smile. 

“Fine, I’ll put it away,” Stiles shrugs, faking like he’s aiming to chuck the ring box back in the drawer. At Derek’s squirming, making them both gasp and Stiles finally pull out, he pauses, Derek’s hand on his arm to halt him.

He looks bashful when Stiles glances back to him with the corners of his mouth still spread wide, and Derek hesitantly interlaces their fingers again, tugging him closer. 

Stiles raises his eyebrows and Derek nods. Now’s the time. It’s very them, anyway. A fancy restaurant would never be right for them. Derek’s actually surprised Stiles hadn’t proposed in the middle of a fight with some kind of beast, both of them bloody and hurting, covered in monster guts. Now that would be them.

“Derek,” Stiles starts, straddling Derek on their mattress, one hand intertwined with Derek’s and one hand on the ring box. He opens his mouth again, attempting a grand romantic speech, Derek is sure of it, but tears cloud his vision and choke his throat, and he falters. Derek reaches out to rub his hip, starting to tear up himself, and Stiles sniffs.

“I love you so fucking much, you know that?” Stiles croaks out, setting the box down beside them on the bed and moving to cup Derek’s face with his hand. “You are everything to me. You’re my whole world, Derek. You’re everything I could want, everything I can’t believe I get to have. You’re mine, and I am so happy with you, happier than I ever thought I could be. The thought of getting to be with you for the rest of our lives—” Stiles shakes his head, speechless. “There’s no words. It’s everything I could want. You’re— you—”

“I love you too,” Derek murmurs, beaming, and Stiles kisses their linked hands, resting them against his mouth while he takes a breath and gets it together. 

“I want to be able to show you I love you every damn day. Make you know how loved you are, how happy I am to be with you. How amazing you are, how perfect you are to me.” His face is a mess, teary and snotty, but he’s never looked more beautiful to Derek, and Derek’s never been more sure of their relationship. 

“I just can’t believe I get you. That you are so sweet, and patient, and loving and caring and handsome and kind and brave—”

Derek shuts him up with a kiss, so Stiles pours out his heart into it, and Derek feels every bit of it.

When they break apart, Derek feels confident for once, like nothing could hurt or touch him now, and he grips Stiles’ waist in his hands, all Stiles’ fingers buried in his hair. They are both still crying, but the happiest they’ve ever been.

“Wasn’t there a question in there?” Derek snarks with a cheeky grin, showing all his pretty teeth. “Something you wanted to ask me?” His patented eyebrows go up, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Not with that attitude,” Stiles teases, kissing him again. And again, and again. 

“Derek,” he mumbles against the wolf’s mouth. “Der,” another kiss before he backs away so he can say the next part more clearly. Since it’s important.

“Derek, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” comes Derek’s reply after no hesitation. 

And just like that, they’re engaged.

And all is well. 

Derek and Stiles both lean towards insecure, especially after all that their pasts have entailed. But now Stiles thinks a little bit more, and makes every effort to show and tell Derek how utterly loved and adored he is. 

Stiles gets home at the proper, predictable time, and embraces Derek at the door, and asks about his day, and learns from his mistakes. And Derek tries to remember that above all else, Stiles loves him. Would do anything for him, thinks of him always, wants nothing else but to be with him.

Derek has security now, attempts to communicate more, knows Stiles would never judge him, and now, would never leave him. The peace that comes with this knowledge settles something in Derek, and he knows they’re both in this for life, and whatever comes after.

They prove their love and devotion to each other in so many little ways each day, and it’s not that Derek is glad for everything that happened, but it had opened the doors for more open communication, and with that, the knowledge that there is nothing he could say or do that would push Stiles away. They are linked together, now and forever, and their bond has only grown, and will continue to grow.

Neither of them are without mistakes. But their dedication to each other gives every argument, every misstep a happy ending, and their self esteem grows as they get more and more reassurance from the other without even asking for it. Plus, more make-up sex always helps.

When Derek gets a day off from the shop, he goes down to Stiles’ office and surprises him, and the look on Stiles’ face is worth every minute Stiles is wasting not working. 

Stiles kisses him in front of all his coworkers, to many whoops and cheers, and they part with blushing faces, and Stiles sneaks him into his office, and shuts the door and blinds. 

They hold hands again as they laugh and mess around, trying to quiet their moans, and this time, they both wear wedding bands on their interlaced fingers.

Derek’s anchor remains his anchor, and whenever he feels himself sinking, Stiles is there to catch him, to ground him, to hold him above the open water again so he can breathe. Stiles breathes with him, and doesn’t let go. Not just until they’re both safe and sound; no, Stiles doesn’t let go at all.

Whatever challenges arise, they face with hands interlinked and souls intertwined. 

Together.