“Derek… Incubus, remember? This isn’t… we aren’t…”
Derek cuts off his words with his mouth (it’s fucking effective, why hasn’t be been doing this since the day they’d met?) and breaks away again long enough to growl “I’ll send it a fruit basket later.”
The pack has to deal with an incubus. This was going to be a PWP but I’m a giant mushball so ended up being about feelings.
Lydia coughs pointedly. “An incident report filed by 87th Precinct Captain Erica Reyes. March twenty-fifth, eight p.m. Came back to the precinct to grab my coat, only to hear Stilinski banging his new boyfriend in the holding cell.”
“Ah, yeah, Desiree, I told you I was meeting someone. Well, that someone is Derek. My boyfriend. We’re totally in love.” His heart was racing and Derek was holding him so tight it was difficult to turn enough to face the young woman. What he did see of her had his breath catching on fishhooks in his throat. She was normally a relatively pretty girl, with cute round cheeks and large dark eyes, but in that moment she looked…terrifying. Her cheeks seemed gaunt, her eyes glowing like they were little windows peeking into a deep pit of raging flame.
(Or: Five or so years after the show. Stiles is in college, and finds himself getting stalked by a succubus. Derek’s determined that the best way to thwart her is to prove that he and Stiles are madly in love. It’s not really as much of an act as either seems to think.)
Stiles’ Jeep grinds to a halt, he sees someone running through the rain, he’s not expecting it to be Derek. He’s not expecting a Derek without any memories either, or an Alpha pack that’s coming for all of them. He probably should’ve, because lately nothing goes the way he expects.
“Yes,” Peter said, putting a hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades and shoving him so he stumbled forward a few feet. “He’s for you, Derek.”
“What?” Stiles yelped. Derek’s nose flared and one side of his mouth raised up in a feral grin. Stiles whirled around to look at Peter. “What the hell are you talking about?” he exclaimed. “This is not what I agreed to!”
Peter gave him an infuriatingly calm look. “You said, and I quote, ‘Mr. Hale, I will do anything for the money.’ You signed the papers. You got yourself into this. And now you are going to do what you promised to do.”
And so: Stiles, deep in Peter’s debt, is offered up to Peter’s nearly feral nephew in an effort to keep him going over the edge of madness.
“But, you don’t run,” Derek pointed out, confused.
“People can get new hobbies,” Stiles snapped. “Geez, if I’d known it was going to be this big of a deal, I’d have called you first. Want me to give you my workout schedule? That way you can coordinate your nose accordingly?”
In which Stiles’ summer starts off so badly he starts running, gets pelted by paint balls, and decides he is, in fact, going crazy if he willingly wants to hang out with Derek Hale.
Stiles. Don’t leave the loft no matter what. I’m sorry. We’re tracking down the incubus right now. Don’t leave. Please. Just. I’m sorry it had to be you. Just. Stiles, don’t leave, okay?
It’s Derek’s voice, broken and wretched, pleading in a way Stiles has never heard before. He doesn’t know what has happened, or what the incubus has done, but something in that tone of voice cuts him deep inside— makes him wonder— what happened?