“This is… Weird. I’m not imagining that, right?” Scott asked the people around him and the world in general, and was largely ignored by both except for Kira, who patted him comfortingly on his shoulder. Lydia as well, who glared at him and menacingly stepped forward to tighten his tie until it was close to strangling him.
“If you say anything to him, Scott McCall, I will bury the heels of these Louis Vuitton’s so deeply in your heart that your werewolf healing will never have a chance,” She told him, faux sweet and quiet enough that no one could overhear. The red lipped smile she gave him was terrifying, and Scott could feel a small part of himself shrivel up and die on the inside at the look in her eyes.
“But-“ He feebly protested, at his tie was tightened even further.
“I have worked too hard on all of this for you to ruin it,” She hissed, pulling him close so that they were nose to nose and he had to go a bit cross-eyed to keep her in focus, “So shut. Up.”
“Isn’t this supposed to be Stiles’ big day? Why are you making it about you?” Isaac asked nobody in particular, not cowed by the look Lydia shot him. He just sighed and looked away, in search of anything to make this whole thing a bit more bearable. He didn’t even really want to be here, anyways.
It’s not like he fucking cared about either half of the oh-so happy couple.
“Now,” Lydia said a bit happier and louder, smoothing down the lapels of Scott’s suit while the man eyed her nervously, “What are your duties?”
“To make sure Stiles makes it down the aisle, and that he doesn’t have too much champagne before we can get him there.” Scott dutifully told her, repeating the two simple tasks he’d been slated with from the very start.
Just show up, do what I tell you, and don’t be an ass, Lydia had told him way back when this had all first started. Back when he’d truthfully figured the whole thing would end as a bit of a joke or… Something. He certainly hadn’t thought they’d actually go through with it. After all, at some point Stiles had to realize that this was Peter Hale he was marrying and come to his senses.
“Good,” Lydia cooed like he was a pet that had managed to perform a trick correctly, “So go do that.” And then she was gone, whirling around with a flare of her floor length black gown, the clack of heels ominous as she went out in search of anything that might be going wrong in order to squash it without prejudice.
Isaac, having nothing better to do, followed Scott and Kira as they filed down a nearby hallway, pushing open a partially cracked door to be greeted by a frantically pacing Stiles.
“Soctt! Scotty!” I need your help!” The man yelped, stumbling over to grip his best friend by the shoulders desperately.
“Don’t worry, I got you,” The werewolf promised, suddenly all filled with confidence and alpha-ness, “I know at least three ways to sneak out of here,” Lydia be damned, “And we can send Isaac ahead for the car-“ He was stopped short by the pain of Kira’s heel digging into his foot suddenly and viciously, and the look his best friend was giving him.
“What? No,” Stiles blinked, confused, “Why would I- Wait, why is Isaac here?” He asked peering around Scott’s bulk to eye the bored man behind him. “Why are you here? Who invited you to my wedding?” Stiles asked, utterly perplexed, and the other man shrugged.
“I don’t know. The invitation came and I figured, why not?” Isaac shrugged, “I got you a food processor.”
“Why the fuck do I need a food processor?” Stiles asked the universe before turning his attention back onto Scott. “Look, buddy, my dad went to go get something from his hotel room and he was supposed to be back here with it, like, twenty minutes ago. I cannot get married without it, you understand? So I need you to go, get this thing, track down my dad, and get it all back here in the next,” He looked at his watch, “Seven minutes, or else Peter and Lydia’s schedule will be ruined and we’ll be massacred mercilessly.”
“Oh, um… What is it?” Scott asked after a moment of processing.
“I’m here!” The sheriff called as he ran down the hallway toward them where they still stood in the doorway, “I’ve got it. Excuse me,” He pushed past them to get to his son, holding an old jewelry box aloft.
“Oh, thank God.” Stiles whispered, visibly sagging with relief. “Dad, seriously, thank you-“
“No thanks necessary, I should have remembered it.” The older man stated gruffly, staring down at the box in his hand for a moment before opening it and pulling out the slim silver and diamond bracelet it had inside.
“The cufflinks you wore at your wedding,” Stiles said quietly, the small studs already blinking on his wrists, “And the bracelet Mom wore.” As his father fastened it for him, the room getting a bit heavier as they both stared down at it.
The Stilinskis pulled each other in for a hard, tearful hug while the other three people in the room looked elsewhere, and nobody mentioned the tears that were brushed away because of the danger of more falling if they were acknowledged.
“You ready?” John Stilinski asked his son, squeezing his shoulder at the shaky smile he was given. “Yeah. That’s about right.” He murmured gently, remembering exactly how he had felt years and years ago…
“So,” He said gruffly, straightening his back and gathering himself back up, “I guess I’ll go out there and wait for this show to get on the road.” He nodded, moving to walk past his son’s friends again and pausing as he took in who all was there. “Hey… Isaac?” He questioned, shooting a look to his son – he knew full well his only child’s feelings toward the other man – before pasting on a smile and moving on. “Good to see you.”
“I’m here for the entertainment and the food. I brought a food processor.” The young man informed the Sherriff, who only nodded, used to far more questionable things coming out of his son’s mouth.
“That’s good.” He noted before slipping past and walking to where the ceremony would be held.
“Are you…” Ready? Happy? Alright? Brain damaged? Scott didn’t really know how to end that question, but Stiles smiled anyways and punched him lightly in the shoulder.
“Yeah.” His best friend of forever said, and suddenly Scott wanted to cry because Stiles was getting married. Stiles. Getting married.
Sensing the emotional upheaval his friend was going through, Stiles gave him a moment to work it trough and turned to Kira, holding his arms out.
“What do you think?” He asked with a cocky grin, getting a wide smile in return.
“Perfect.” She promised, and it was true. His tux was perfect and unwrinkled – he hadn’t sat down since he’d put it on – his shirt so white it was about to run off for a quick visit to Starbucks, his boutonniere the reddest rose he had ever seen. His hair wasn’t a giant mess, there wasn’t any flannel in sight, and he smelled like lavender, which was nice. He looked amazing, and Scott couldn’t help it any longer, throwing himself forward and wrapping himself around his friend as he turned into a blubbering mess.
“Aw, Scotty,” Stiles laughed waterily, “You’re gonna get me going.”
“I-I’m j-just,” Scott sniffled, “So happy and sad all at once.”
“Yeah.” Stiles chuckled, squeezing his friend tightly. “Yeah.”
"Scott McCall, remove yourself.” Lydia called out from the end of the hall, her heels like the sound of sharp machine gun fire as she marched down the corridor to them. “You will ruin his tux and if you do-“
“Ah, Lyds,” Stiles laughed, rubbing at his face. “It’s fine.”
She looked him over with razor sharp eyes and, upon finding nothing wrong with him, relaxed a bit.
“Alright,” She sighed, hands going to her hips as she allowed herself a moment to breathe, “But Scott, Kira, Isaac, you guys have to go sit. Now.” She commanded, and they quickly scurried to do as she bid. She turned away from where she’d been watching them to make sure they actually disappeared as she had commanded, and found Stiles looking at her fondly.
“You’ve done great. No one could ask for a better best woman.” He told her, and she rolled her eyes. It wasn’t like she’d been forced into helping plan the wedding, or that it had been a big burden. She’d just kind of taken all of Stiles’ duties over for him at some point because the man had terrible taste and she wanted him to have a decent wedding. It was her present for him.
And, while she couldn’t stand being around Peter, at least the man knew how to put a good looking wedding together.
“Flattery has never gotten you anywhere with me, Stilinski, and it won’t get you anywhere today.” She promised, but she still took his hand and squeezed it for a moment before turning around.
When Lydia had asked where they wanted to have their ceremony after a lot of shrugging genuinely not caring Stiles had brought up the UCLA’s Powell library, where he’d gone to do some research for the pack a few months back. He’d walked in, looked around, and he’d thought, hey, this is a pretty place.
There hadn’t been much more thought to it than that. They’d looked at some pictures, had decided it looked nice enough for a wedding, and figured, why not their wedding?
They were shallow like that.
"Will the university even let a wedding happen in their library?” Stiles had asked. Lydia had just lifted her chin at the challenge.
“They will if I ask.” She’d promised, and now here they were.
Lydia left him just outside the rotunda the ceremony was being held in, hiding in the reference stacks to allow her to be seated and for just a moment he wondered if what he was doing was right. Not like, morally or anything like that, because fuck that. But… right for him. Right for his future. There were infinite possibilities in the universe and was it alright to choose this one? What would happen once he did?
The music started – not the bridal march, but a classical violin piece Peter had had fucking composed for this, the dramatic asshole – and Stiles’ feet obeyed before his brain could really think too much on it. He looked up as he entered the rotunda, feeling dozens of eyes on him, and there he was, coming out from the reading room and…
“Oh, you asshole,” Stiles laughed, grinning widely at his smug groom as the crowd tittered, some not fully understanding. Peter did though. That was evident what with his stupid smug grin and the added swagger to his walk.
His tux was white.
They met in the middle, just under the chandelier, and Stiles rolled his eyes at the stupid fuck in front of him.
“You look ridiculous,” He told the older man, his voice carrying to the watching crowd. Peter just smirked.
“One of us had to, and your complexion doesn’t wear white well.” Peter told him, but there was a sly light in his eyes that showed the truth.
“You’re just an attention whore.” Stiles said all too fondly, because it was just like Peter to get a kick out of wearing white and pretending like it wasn’t just about him being a smug asshole and rubbing just how unvirtuous he was in everyone’s faces.
Though, somehow he did manage to look amazing despite being in a white tux.
“Well then, I suppose we should get started,” Amanda, an old Druid and equally old family friend of the Hale’s, declared, standing tall between them. Stiles didn’t really know if she was qualified to officiate wedding, or if Peter had just gotten her because it made Derek uncomfortable every time the woman serenely looked toward him, but she seemed to be a fine fit for the job she’d been given.
The woman said some flowery words about two people coming together and love and blah, blah, blah, whatever. It was boring. Stiles was having a boring wedding.
He figured that he and Peter were supposed to hold each other’s hands and look deeply into the others eyes or some romantic shit like that, but Stiles’ hands were sweaty and prolonged eye contact was awkward, so instead he took in the neat architecture around him. After all, it was a pretty place. The pictures would definitely make the whole occasion out to be something nice and not at all dragging and slow.
She was still talking, though it seemed like now she was dropping thinly veiled references to werewolves in the form of talking about actual wolves and their mating.
It was getting a bit weird. Probably Peter’s fault.
The ceilings were really cool. They’d have to make sure to get enough pictures of the place without Stiles in it, because even though he trusted Lydia in all of her magical goddess powers, he was sure he looked awkward in his tux and-
Oh no, everyone was looking at him. He was supposed to talk.
“I do.” He said confidently, though the snickering that got from the audience and the annoyed look on Amanda’s face told him that that hadn’t been what they were looking for.
Peter’s eyes were practically glittering from his amusement, and Stiles had to restrain himself from kicking the smug bastard on the shin.
“Your vows, Mr. Stilinski.” Amanda said, calm as you please, though she looked like she’d bitten into a squishy grape.
“Oh. Yeah. That.” Stiles eloquently managed, suddenly remembering that this was being filmed.
He’d just have to nail this and make sure he didn't look completely idiotic.
“I think about how I hate you once a day,” He announced proudly, smiling at the intrigue on Peter’s face because his heart hadn't stuttered, “And your decorating taste is horrible and it makes me itch. You are smug all the time, which is super annoying, you hate peanut butter, and throw toothpaste away before it's all used because you're wasteful. I think about this stuff all the time, and sometimes I wonder why we’re even together.”
Scott stands, almost like he’d heard the uncertainty and took it as a desperate plea for help, which draws everyone’s attention to him, but Kira and the Sheriff manage to pull him back into his seat. Everyone continued to stare at him for a moment before shrugging and turning back to the wedding.
“Anyway,” Stiles said airily, turning back to his soon to be husband, “I think about all of that, and then I think about how you also make me food when I’m busy and forget to eat, and that you watched the Star Trek reboots with me even though the first two are shit. You make bigos with me every Christmas because you know it’s important to me, even though the smell makes you sick. And every single day you make me realize that I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else again and again and again.”
There. Take that, any romantic speech ever. They’d just got owned.
Peter smiled at him, a small, almost gentle thing, and waited for Amanda to nod at him before saying, “Stiles, I love you.” in front of everyone when they'd never even said it out loud to each other. It had always just been something they’d shown through gestures and looks and slow, thorough fucks. And he’d just said it. In front of everyone they cared about (plus Amanda.)
“You fucker!” Stiles gasped as tears pooled in his eyes, “You… Just saying that! Like that!” And damn it, he was crying. Everything was being filmed, and he was crying because the douche canoe in front of him had just blurted out a confession of love like it was nothing!
“There, there,” Peter hummed like the asshole he was, reaching out and gathering his groom close so that the younger man could hide his face in his neck, holding on tight to that ridiculous white suit.
He would swear up and down that he was not in any way comforted, but he held on tight despite this and tried his best to breathe, reveling in the familiar scent of Peter’s cologne. That short little sentence on loop over and over in his head, just to keep those feelings alive, making him simultaneously want to punch a wall and go home with Peter to just be with him.
It was disgusting.
Amanda continued, asking if he was willing to be with Peter for as long as they could both stand one another, but more poetic than that.
“Yeah, sure. Fuck.” Stiles choked out, punching Peters arm when he felt the rumble of the man chuckling.
“I do.” Peter, who had probably planned all of this just to make stiles look ridiculous, said smoothly, and then they were married. Just like that.
Stiles pulled back and glared as they slid the rings on each other’s finger, puckering up after for a quick and chaste kiss to seal the deal.
“I hate you.” He angrily declared once they were done, and Peter looked so fond it was almost tempting to claim that the man was a doppelganger of the real Peter.
I love you too, asshole. His eyes said, and that was more than enough.
“The ceremony suited them.” Kira said before taking a sip of the pink cocktail in her hand, looking the reception over with curious eyes. “It was nice.”
“But Stiles cried.” Scott protested, gesturing with his own drink and almost throwing the entire thing at a passing-by woman Peter knew from his work, “What if he’s so starved for affection because their relationship is abusive that-”
“Shut up, Scott,” Lydia sighed, looking over the ballroom of the hotel to make sure everything was as it was supposed to be. She refused to let even the slightest detail go wrong on her watch.
Scott sputtered, and Kira patted his shoulder with a consoling hand.
“Where are they at, anyway?” Isaac asked, despite the fact that he really didn’t care. He just wanted to change the subject. “Aren’t they supposed to be dancing or something?”
“They found an unattended bathroom and are currently having sex in it.” Lydia sighed, and Scott gagged like the five year old he was. “And now we’re behind schedule for dinner.”
“We could just start without them.” Isaac suggested, earning a scandalized look from Kira.
“It’s their wedding!” She protested, and he shrugged.
“Yeah, and I’m at it while they’re not. What does that say?” He asked, and none of them could think of a response.
“Technically, it's the reception.” Lydia mused. “Much less important than the wedding itself.” After a brief consideration, all of the hungry friends had to admit that this was true.
And in the end, the couple didn't look too upset when they came back in in the middle of the first course. That might have had something to do with the bite mark on Stiles’ throat – not werewolf related – and the sudden mess of Stiles’ hair, though.