Actions

Work Header

INSIDE BOY

Chapter Text

 

PART ONE: STILES

 

Okay, he’s gonna do it. This Wednesday. He’s gonna march right up to her and ask her to fuck.

 

No.

 

Wait.

 

A date. He should take her on a date first. Probably a couple of dates actually. Because all participants have to be willing, and lord knows there’s no way he could drop her panties with his looks alone. No, he has to let her get to know “him”— the morally conscious, sweet, nonexistent side of him— and then fuck the shit out of her on the pentagram under the rug in his bedroom.

 

It’s his first ritual that requires major sacrifices. Two virginities. And lucky him, he just so happens to also be a virgin, so he only has to coerce one unsuspecting human being into fucking instead of two.

 

And Stiles has decided it’s going to be Dera Hale. Because she’s hot. And apparently a virgin according to the inquiry spell that he’d conjured up in his alphabet soup. Which would be odd to any outsiders considering her good looks, except Stiles knows what a belligerent asshole she is when she’s not being a clown. It’s a classic case of pretty on the outside, ugly on the inside.

 

He would have picked Lydia Martin but her head is too far up Jackson Whittemore’s ass. Dera Hale, however, has no one. She’s the perfect target.

 

Stiles feels a tug of arousal in his gut so he snakes his hand into his shorts as he stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Everything is going to go so smoothly tomorrow. This time two weeks from now, Dera Hale is going to be flat on her back in his bedroom floor, and he’s going to be imbued with enough dark energy to cast a thousand spells.

 

Wonderful.

 

••••

 

The next day, Stiles waits outside of the girl’s locker room. Dera is on the girl’s basketball team, so every Monday and Wednesday at six, he’ll pretty much have a sure fire way to corner her into conversations with him.

 

He sees a flash of raven black hair amongst the crowd of girls exiting the locker room. In a flurry of accidental elbowing and apologies, he quickly cuts through the mob of Bath & Bodyworks perfume conduits until he’s close enough to reach out and tap the girl on her shoulder.

 

Dera turns around, her big sharp grin fading into a scowl as she realises it’s him and not one of her teammates.

 

“Um, hi.” The girls around him start to giggle and stare as he makes a complete fool out of himself. On purpose. Totally on purpose. It’s all part of the plan. To look dorky and unassuming. He has to make himself a complete non threat. Because that’s the plan.

 

“What do you want?”

 

Stiles lays a gentle hand between her shoulder blades, guiding her away from that nosy flock of pigeons. Once they’re out of earshot, Stiles bursts into his practised speech. “I just think you’re really pretty and good at basketball and funny, and I was just wondering if you wanted to go out sometime.”

 

She raises a critical eyebrow, despite the visible blush that’s spreading across the bridge of her nose. Stiles can’t tell if she’s flattered or embarrassed. “Like a date?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“With you.”

 

Her deadpan tone is kind of insulting. Like Stiles is a catch, okay. He’s smart, he can be kind, he’s tall, and his dick game will be on 1000 after he gets home and sacrifices the donkey he’s been hiding in the woods behind his house to Priapus. It better work too because that donkey was $400.

 

“Yeah with me,” Stiles replies, his patience with her attitude already wearing thin. He could have always gone with someone uglier with a lower self esteem, but actually no he couldn’t have. Insecure pussy is the worst. Or at least he imagines it is. And he’s imagined a lot of pussy.

 

An amused look crosses her face then, a smirk quirking at the corner of her lips as she says, “Yeah, okay.”

 

“Really? Cool, then I guess I’ll text you.”

 

“You don’t have my phone number.”

 

Stiles waves his phone in the air with a smug grin. “I have everyone’s phone number. School directory.”

 

“You’re creepy,” is all Dera says before she walks away, and if Stiles checks out her ass, well the entire rest of the team sees and points it out so he makes a quick exit.

 

••••

 

From: God

To: Dera

Hey this is Stiles

 

From: Dera

To: God

Oh. Creep. Its you.

 

From: God

To: Dera

I’m not a creep

 

From: Dera

To: God

Your not not a creep

 

From: God

To: Dera

*You’re

 

From: Dera

To: God

Stfu

Cunt

 

Stiles smiles to himself. She’s exactly his type. Mean. Although, they’ll have to work on.... well almost the entire rest of her personality to be honest. But her positives make it totally worth the effort. She’s athletic, but not too athletic. Street smart. And she’s got these beautiful teeth. Is that a weird thing to fixate on? Because they’re so hot.

 

Everything about her is so hot.

 

Aaaaaand he’s jerkin off. That’s fine. He can text with one hand. He actually does it a lot. Just to Scott. But he does it.

 

Text him. Not jack off to him.

 

Usually.

 

From: God

To: Dera

I level up every time you’re mean to me

 

From: Bitch

To: God

YOU’RE such a freak

 

From: God

To: Bitch

You have no idea

 

••••

 

“Do you wanna go on a picnic?”

 

The girl visibly jumps before whipping around, an alarmed look on her face before her expression flattens. “Oh, it’s you. Yeah, sure. I live in the preserve, so we can just do it there.”

 

“In the preserve? Like in a cave?”

 

“In a house.” She looks thoroughly unamused, except Stiles can totally read her and he can see the tiny upturn of her lips that’s she’s fighting.

 

“I didn’t know you were allowed to build in the preserve,” Stiles says conversationally. As if he cares.

 

“My family owned the land before we donated it to Beacon Hills parks & rec.”

 

“How charitable.”

 

Dera rolls her eyes, slamming her locker shut. “Walk me to class.”

 

Stiles smiles, extra wide, and he knows he looks like the wolf that caught the canary but he can’t help it. “Yeah of course. After you, m’lady.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

••••

 

“What the fuck?” Stiles curses, trying to brush the last of the spider web out of his hair. “You live like this?”

 

“It’s just a spider.”

 

Just a spider? It’s never just a fucking spider. Spiders are horrible. You evil, beautiful, soulless creature.”

 

Dera snorts, brushing one of her fly away hairs out of her face as she looks over her shoulder. Her hazel blue eyes look him up and down before she snorts again and turns back around. God. For a second there she flashed her brilliantly sharp teeth at him. And Stiles chooses that exact moment to trip over a tree root.

 

It’s a good thing Dera is carrying the basket.

 

Dera won’t tell him where they’re going. She says it’s somewhere she stumbled upon a while ago, but they’ve been hiking for twenty minutes and he’s tired.

 

They finally arrive at a clearing. In the middle is some stump. Except it’s not ‘some stump.’ It’s the fucking Nemeton.

 

Only one of the most powerful magical sites on the west coast that Stiles has been searching for for three years but has never found because it has to ‘want to be found’ or some bullshit. He’s angrier than he is amazed. It’s a pyrrhic victory marked by the mosquito bite scars on his arms and the callouses on his feet. And hours upon hours of forest masturbation.

 

Maybe that’s why it didn’t want to be found.

 

Stiles plays it cool though. He only rubs his hand across it reverently twice before Dera climbs on top of it and sits on it. Like it’s a fucking chair. A piece of furniture. Not a thousand year old pagan holy site. That bitch.

 

It makes him feel less bad about manipulating her into a sex ritual. Not that he felt terribly bad about it to begin with. He’s mostly excited about getting his dick wet.

 

Reluctantly, he climbs onto the remains of the Nemeton and starts pulling food out of their basket.

 

The date is so-so while they eat. Nothing exciting happens. Although he is pleased to learn that she knows how to keep her mouth closed while she eats. He can’t stand smackers. It’s when they start talking that it all goes downhill for him.

 

“So, come here often?”

 

“Only when I need to meditate away the urge to kill.”

 

“Was that a threat?”

 

“I mean, I’ve already gotten you alone in the wilderness. I could kill you now if I wanted to.”

 

“And what about the body?”

 

“I’d let the wolves lick your bones clean.” Stiles begins to chuckle before she follows that statement up with, “Just kidding. I’d bury you deep in the ground, then bury something else dead a couple feet above you.”

 

Dera half smiles at her plate, self-satisfied, and Stiles just has to take a second to stare at her with genuine awe. She’s.... perfect. He immediately retracts everything he’s ever said about her personality. She’s hot. She’s smart. She’s funny. She’s emotionally detached. And she has some sort of innate connection to the magical world.

 

She must be his.

 

Dera looks up from where she’s been pushing grapes around her plate, her cheeks going pink. “Stop looking at me like that, creep.”

 

“Stop being beautiful.”

 

“Okay, now you’re actually making me want to kill you.”

 

“If anything, that makes you more beautiful.”

 

Dera nails him between the eyes with a grape. “Stop saying weird shit like that, you fucking freak.” Her voice sounds annoyed, but her pink lips are stretched into a playful smirk. And then it occurs to him that she’s actually flirting back.

 

Oh god. He goes a little light headed. Just the idea that another human being is interested in him turns him on. Thank god he’s wearing actual jeans. He could not bear popping a boner in basketball shorts in front of her.

 

She furrows her thick eyebrows, and lays a hand on his shoulder, which is totally the wrong move because Stiles feels the little whoosh in his gut associated with precum. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m great.”

 

She gets onto her knees then so she can lean in close, pulling him forward by the shoulder. This new angle gives his eyes a straight shot down her v-neck. “You don’t look too good.”

 

And then she bites her lip, the unsure gesture spreading into a dirty smile before she uses the hand on his shoulder to push him flat on his back. She kicks a leg over him before slowly sinking down onto his lap, miming something that sends Stiles’ pulse into overdrive.

 

They can’t possibly fuck now. They have to be on the pentagram. He has to say the incantation. But Dera looks like she’s about to eat him alive, and maybe that sacrifice did work after all. She’s all over him, licking and biting up and down his neck and across his collar bone while grinding her ass down onto his dick like a straight animal.

 

His brain finally reboots and his hands grab her face, pulling her mouth up to his and licking into her mouth desperately.

 

She pulls away impatiently, though, hands going straight for his jeans.

 

“Woahwoahwoah, are you sure about this?”

 

Dera’s blue-green eyes narrow at him challengingly as she stands up and pulls her shirt off, her athletic shorts following, both flung into the woods carelessly.

 

“Are you?” she asks above him, cocking her eyebrow as he visibly struggles on his intake of air. She’s like an Amazonian warrior goddess standing over him with her hands on her hips in a total power stance. Long legs, abs, black hair cascading over her tanned skin. She kind of looks like Wonder Woman.

 

“Of fucking course,” Stiles chokes out, sitting up to fling off his flannel and t shirt before she falls back into his lap. He’ll just have to try the ritual now because there’s no way in hell he’s passing up this opportunity.

 

Dera goes straight for his neck again, this time biting down hard enough to leave a mark. She’s a little rougher than he expected, but it’s definitely welcomed as evidenced by his strangled moan.

 

“Get your dick out.”

 

“Aren’t you a virgin?”

 

Dera gives him something between a smirk and a glare. “Well, I wouldn’t be if you’d shut the fuck up.” Her tone is nothing short of patronising asshole, which would have made him feel a little bad if she wasn’t tugging his jeans and briefs down his legs in one fell swoop. And also if he wasn’t totally into her domming the fuck out of him.

 

“Oh, thank god,” she breathes once his dick is out, fully erect and heavy on his thigh.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s just, you give off major little dick energy so I didn’t think...” Dera trails off with a semi-apologetic smile at Stiles’ offended gasp. “I’m impressed,” she says, wrapping her hand around his dick. She’s a basketball player so of course her hands are slightly calloused, and they feel so good stroking him slowly and playing with his balls.

 

“Shouldn’t I like, finger you so it doesn’t hurt or whatever?” Stiles manages to ask in a moment where Dera stops stroking him to move farther down on him.

 

The girl just shrugs and says “nah”.

 

“Nah? You said you’re a virgin. Won’t it hurt?”

 

“Just because I’ve never had a dick inside me doesn’t mean there haven’t been plenty of other things in there,” Dera smirks before sinking her mouth onto his dick so quickly and unexpectedly that Stiles almost busts into the wet heat of her mouth in two seconds. Her fingers squeeze a tight ring around the base of his cock though, and that’s the only thing that saves him. Although his refractory period is impressively short lately (thanks to the sacrifice) so it wouldn’t have been that big of an issue. But still embarrassing nonetheless.

 

Her drool runs down the part of his dick that her lips don’t quite cover, her free hand spreading it around before she starts twisting and pulling in time with her hollowing cheeks.

 

Stiles is in heaven. Actual heaven. This is even better than he’d imagined. This is better than the microwaved cantaloupe. Oh god, he might marry her. Blow jobs can be a sound foundation for a marriage right? It’s just that she’s so good at it like, her lips are swollen and soft around him while her tongue massages patterns on him and her head never stops moving up and down. She gives head like she was made for it.

 

Her only mistake is when her fingers loosen at the base of his cock, head pushing forward until he’s halfway down her throat and Stiles just loses it, grabbing her by the back of the head and pushing her down further as her spasming throat milks the cum out of him.

 

When he lets go, she comes up with an angry look on her face.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“I can’t believe you came, you stupid asshole.”

 

“First of all,” Stiles starts, lying bonelessly against the hard wood of the Nemeton, “Your words are hurtful. Second of all, give me like two minutes and I’ll be ready to go again.”

 

“Two minutes?” Dera asks skeptically, shrugging when Stiles nods eagerly. “Okay, but just in case you need a little extra motivation...” Her smile is wicked as her fingers hook in the sides of her panties. She works them down a little then sits back between his thighs so she can pull them off all the way. This angle with her legs splayed open wide, feet planted on either side of his hips, gives Stiles the perfect view of her pussy, and he can already feel his half hard cock start jerking with interest as it fills with blood.

 

Dera sticks two fingers in her mouth, coating them with spit before she pulls them out and positions them at her entrance. She stares deep in his eyes as she tucks her fingers into herself, eyebrows furrowing and pink lips dropping open. She could totally be a cam girl if she wanted. He’d drain every last cent to watch her play with herself like this.

 

Stiles grabs his dick then, rubbing himself in time with the pace of her fingers until he’s fully hard again and precum is drooling out of the tip of his dick. “Condom?” he asks as Dera rises onto her knees, shuffling forward until she’s positioned over him.

 

“No,” she answers curtly.

 

“No like you don’t have one or no like you don’t want one?”

 

“No,” is all she says before she’s wrapping her hand around his dick to hold him steady and she’s sinking down onto him.

 

Stiles swears he sees god— one of them anyway— as she slowly sinks down until their bodies are flush. She rolls her hips around in a circle a couple times, biting her lip as she gets used to the foreign feeling.

 

Stiles runs his hands across the sunned expanse of her stomach and under her ribcage, fingers pushing their way under her sports bra until his hands are full of the soft flesh. Her nipples are like beads against his palms as he gently massages them.

 

“I think I wanna be on my back.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” She pulls off of him to his dismay before pushing the rest of the picnicking stuff off the stump so she has room to lay down, and Stiles scoots forward between her legs, sitting back on his knees. He grabs her by the thighs and pulls her into his lap so that his dick slides into her effortlessly. He thrusts his hips up into her a couple times to test out the position, both of them groaning from the new, better angle.

 

Then, he does what he’s seen so many times in porn, pushing her knees to her chest as he leans forward into her and goes deep. Her eyes do this thing when he does it, where they blow wide like she can’t even believe this is happening and Stiles just loses control, fucking into her with no regard for his own pleasure, just chasing the whines and whimpers that fall from her lips.

 

He can feel his second orgasm approaching so he stops and grinds roughly into her, head dropping to rest against her shoulder. As quietly as he can he whispers, “Dis reditu in potentia ad sacrificium,” before dropping a kiss on her shoulder and picking up where he left off with a barrage of brutal thrusts.

 

He feels it before he feels the orgasm, the magic rushing through him like a violent assault to every fucking one of his senses. Dera must be able to feel it too because she clenches around him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, and releases a blood curdling scream that echoes between the trees. Then her body seizes up and she throws her head back with a low moan as she shakes uncontrollably and comes rippling against his cock.

 

Stiles has about a millisecond of warning before he’s spilling into her, their bodies locked around each other in the middle of the woods in broad daylight.

 

He pretty much collapses against her, a laugh bubbling out of Dera as he finally lets her legs down.

 

“What the fuck was that?”

 

“Was it awful?” he asks into her neck.

 

“The opposite actually. I might let you fuck me again.”

 

“Awesome,” Stiles says weakly, rolling off of her. He’s fucking exhausted. Turns out centuries old magic takes a lot out of you.

Chapter Text

Dera doesn’t text back all weekend, which doesn’t hurt his feelings, but it doesn’t feel good. It kind of makes him paranoid that she’s going to tell her friends that he’s trash in bed so that he never gets laid again.

 

Which is why his soul practically leaves his body when he’s sitting beside Scott at lunch and someone sticks their face in his neck from behind, nipping at the skin playfully before laughing at his expense.

 

Scott, the precious idiot, just looks up all wide puppy eyes, face contorting into something like surprise when Dera sits beside Stiles.

 

“Oh, hey, what are you doing?”

 

“Sitting next to you?”

 

“Well, you didn’t respond to me all day yesterday so I didn’t think I’d be seeing you.”

 

“Busy,” she says nervously, taking her inkpen from behind her ear and chewing it. It’s kind of gross.

 

“You could try eating food,” Stiles says, snatching the pen out of her mouth because he absolutely could not stand to watch that any longer. 

 

“Not hungry.”

 

“Where’s your lunch?”

 

“I said I’m not hungry,” Dera growls suddenly, hand tightening into a fist. And yeah okay maybe she’s not hungry. He’s gonna stop pushing it.

 

“So,” Scott butts in, “How do you guys know each other?”

 

“We’re friends,” Stiles replies at the time that Dera says, “We fucked.”

 

He shoots her an incredulous look. Now he looks like a liar, which he’s not. He just doesn’t need Scott all up in his business.

 

“Once,” Stiles follows up quickly to a very confused Scott, whose eyebrows shoot into his hairline. 

 

“So are you guys like dating?”

 

Stiles stays mute and raises a challenging eyebrow at Dera for the answer since she’s so keen on telling all their shit today. She returns his attitude right back before her tight smile stretches into something just slightly terrifying.

 

“Yeah, we are... He’s my bitch.” Then she turns to Stiles. “The next time I see you, you better be wearing your collar.” With that she stands up and swanks over to her usual table of basketball players without looking back.

 

He’s going to murder her.

 

A surprised laugh chokes it’s way out of Scott’s mouth before Stiles smacks him in his Adam’s apple and sends the curly headed boy into a coughing fit.

 

••••

To: Bitch

From: God

You’re so dead

 

To: God

From: Bitch

I’d mop the floor with ur pencil built ass fuck off

 

Stiles makes a face at his phone. That was a little aggressive. And uncalled for. He wishes he wasn’t turned on by it, but if he ignores it then he doesn’t have to address the deeper, probably concerning underlying reason why he would probably bust a nut if she punched him.

 

Stiles unlocks the door to his house, slamming it behind him as he replies.

 

To: Bitch

From: God

That won’t unsuck my dick

 

 He leaves his backpack at his desk, going straight for the box under his bed. Weekday afternoons are for magic. His dad is almost never home, and he’s been itching to see what he can do since the sex ritual. His hand barely brushes the edge of the box when something grabs his leg and pulls him across the bedroom floor.

 

The sound he involuntarily emits is so fucking pathetic, but he’s honestly pissed off so many people in his lifetime. His dad’s the sheriff. He’s an asshole who plays with magic. There’s no telling who or what’s attacking him. He grabs the wooden baseball bat that’s also under his bed (for this very reason), and swings it blindly at the intruder.

 

A hand catches the makeshift weapon, the wood splintering between black-nailed fingers. Terror and adrenaline rush through his body as he finally looks up into the face of the thing that’s going to kill him.

 

“Boo!” Dera whispers in his face, chuckling at the way he flinches reflexively.

 

It’s just.... it’s fucking Dera. In his room... where she’s never been. Clutching the remains of his beloved baseball bat. That she crushed with her bare hand. Stiles keeps his guard up. Something is not right.

 

“How did you get in here?”

 

“Window.”

 

“My window was locked.”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” she mumbles dismissively, leaning in to kiss him, but Stiles turns his face.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Other than the breaking and entering?”

 

Dera closes her eyes, taking in a deep shuddering breath like she’s trying to calm herself down but it’s not working.

 

“How did you-“

 

She exhales in a frustrated shout, hands going for the collar of his Wolverine t-shirt. She shreds the material in seconds, pinning his shoulders to the floor as she ducks in and licks a fat stripe up his chest, eyes rolling to the back of her head before they squeeze shut. 

 

“I’m gonna-“ her voice cuts off with a gasp, eyes bursting open to reveal an empty blackness. Her voice splits into two tones, as she speaks around a mouth of razor sharp teeth. “I’m gonna take it.

 

“Take what?” Stiles squeaks, utterly terrified.

 

Everything.

 

Dera’s now significantly sharper, concerningly claw-like nails tear a whole in the front of Stiles’ jeans causing him to release a pathetic yelp. His dick and balls are tight against his body most likely trying to get away from her claws that she’s wielding so carelessly. They are his most sensitive and important bits and she’s just slashing willy nilly around them.

 

At least he’s not the only one suffering major losses in the wardrobe department as Dera shreds her own clothes in seconds, the wire in her bra snapping as she rips it in two in her haste to get it off.

 

Her hand darts into the hole in his pants, claws catching the skin of his thighs as she grasps his dick.

 

He’s not. He’s not hard at all. At first. Probably because he’s so terrified. But usually he gets adrenaline boners so it doesn’t make any sense. Like, there’s no way on God’s green earth that he doesn’t want this. It’s just. She’s scary. And he’s more interested in what the absolute fuck is going on right now.

 

I’m so empty,” Dera whines, head bowing onto his abdomen.

 

“Maybe because you didn’t eat lunch.”

 

Stiles recoils against the floor as she hisses at him. So maybe that was a stupid thing to say it’s not like he can just turn off his incredible sense of humor.

 

I want to be full of your cum,” Dera says suddenly and a little offhandedly, her eyebrows furrowing with a scary determination. She jerks him quickly, and goddamn his teenage body and Priapus because he’s at least half hard in a couple seconds. Her razor sharp teeth drag against his shoulder, and fuck yeah now he’s up and ready to fuckin go.

 

Dera barely pauses to rip a hole in her boyshorts before she’s sinking onto him. Inhuman sounds fill the air as she roughly bounces on his dick, her head tipping back just the slightest bit too far so that it looks almost unnatural. Her whole body is doing this rolling motion in time with her strokes and Stiles has never felt this close to cumming so soon.

 

“Dera-“ Stiles wheezes, trying to ask her to slow down, but his air supply is quickly cut off by Dera’s palm, her claws digging into the side of his neck, and he’s busting a fatass nut into her. She doesn’t slow down though, even as his body starts jerking involuntarily from the overstimulation.

 

Her head jerks forward, forehead now resting against his as she fucks him until he’s hard again, her eyes like empty pits burrowing into his somehow even with his eyes crossing and going out of focus. Her hand finally lets up right as his vision starts going splotchy, curling around the back of his neck to keep his lolling head steady.

 

Pretty,” the monster growls, flicking her tongue against his cupid’s bow. She stops bouncing then, grinding her pussy down on him and clenching in a way that has Stiles gasping in her face as his balls clench up painfully and he cums again too soon. It feels like she’s ripping the orgasms out of him.

 

“I can’t,” Stiles whimpers, actually whimpers, when she starts moving up and down on him again. Every time her walls drag against his cock it feels like his whole body is on fire, fingers and toes burning. His balls are still tight against his body, like a muscle cramp.

 

Dera seems to revel in his destruction though, razor sharp smile pressing into his shoulder as she ducks her head down to nip at the skin. She licks at the tears and sweat rolling down his neck. 

 

A disgusting squelching noise fills the room as his dick goes in and out of her cum drenched hole. Finally, finally, her body starts twitching against his, motions becoming erratic as she nears the edge.

 

Her hand snakes between them, four fingers rubbing messily at her clit, using the cum to slick up her cunt, until she clenches and pulsates around him, coming with a distorted shriek. She collapses backwards, Stiles’ cock sliding out of her, and lands unconscious on the floor. Stiles blacks out moments later.

 

••••

 

Stiles groans, rolling over on the floor. His whole body hurts. His whole body is an ache. His foot hits something on the way that moans back at him.

 

“Dera?”

 

“Whatthefuck.” It’s her normal voice and Stiles audibly exhales in relief. He can’t handle Nega-Dera. Whatever the fuck just happened, never needs to happen again.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Dera sits up, suddenly alert. She looks down at her lack of clothes and up at Stiles once before she lunges forward and wraps her hands around his throat. “What. Did. You. Do?!” She punctuates each word with an assault, banging his head against the floor at different, careless angles, literally throttling him.

 

Stiles grabs her by the shoulders and tries to push her away but she’s fucking strong. Like way stronger than a sixteen year old should be. His hands then go to hers, trying to pry them off his throat, or at least to slip a finger between her thumbs and his windpipe.

 

“Dy...ing,” he squeezes out with his last bit of air, gasping and choking on sweet, sweet oxygen as she lets go of him.

 

“I want to know exactly what the fuck is going on.”

 

“Yeah, me too! You just showed up at my house and tried to fuck me to death!”

 

“Wait, I did this?”

 

“Yeah, Dera. Your eyes went all freaky and empty. What even are you?”

 

“What do you mean ‘what’ am I? I- how do you want me to answer that? I’m ‘confused’ I guess?”

 

Stiles, not known for his patience, snaps at her a little, which is, in his opinion, entirely justified with what just happened. “Cut the bullshit! You’re obviously something! First, you lead me to the Nemeton then you do this, and you expect me to believe this little innocent human...” He loses his words for a second, overwhelmed, before he spits, “-act? Forgive me, Dera, I wasn’t born fucking yesterday. I’ve known about magic and the supernatural for a while now. You don’t have to bullshit.”

 

Dera looks completely baffled... for about half a second before her eyebrows flatten and her bluegreen eyes harden into a glare. “Magic? Did you just say magic? Are you–” A disbelieving laugh cuts off whatever she‘s about to say, her eyes cutting up to the ceiling like it holds some sort of explanation for whatever’s going on, and then she starts rifling through the clothes on his bedroom floor obviously trying to find something to cover herself with. Her unaffected demeanour is betrayed by the shaking of her hands.

 

Stiles grabs a flannel he’s eighty percent sure is clean and offers it to her, wrinkling his nose in offence when she snatches it from him. See if he ever helps her again. Ungrateful bitch. He’s equally as confused as her, and she can’t even offer the bare minimum of civility. Aside from transparency, the least she could do in this moment is not act like a total bitch when she attacked him.

 

Dera hesitates once she’s in front of his locked bedroom door, hand leaving the knob as she whips around. “And just in case it’s not clear: don’t talk to me ever again. If you so much as look at me, it won’t matter that your dad’s the sheriff.”

 

And that.... sounded a lot like a threat. “Are you threatening me?” Stiles rises to his feet, ignoring the tightness in his muscles that damn near turns his legs to jelly. He knows he doesn’t look imposing, but he can still feel the supercharge of magic thrumming in his rib cage like a second heart, the energy practically begging to be released. If he has to take this crazy bitch out, he will.

 

“I’m warning you. If I really did this....” Dera nods her head in the direction of the splintered bat and shredded clothes on his floor. “... when you were on my good side, I don’t think either of us want to find out what I’ll do to you if you piss me off— Well.... I kind of do, but I’m giving you a chance. Use it wisely.” With that, she grabs the door knob, not even noticing when she twists it roughly and snaps the lock mechanism, swinging the door open and exiting swiftly. 

 

And Stiles wants so badly to hurt her. To kill her even, but how can he fight something when he doesn’t even know what it is that he’s up against.

 

He doesn’t bother with cleaning up the mess in his floor, going straight for the tattered bestiary in the box under his bed. It’s missing probably a quarter of the pages and whoever wrote it was a lunatic, but Stiles worked hard to get it. Bestiaries are not easy to come by when you’re not a hunter and you don’t come from a supernatural family. He stalked a wandering omega for weeks, projecting hallucinations into its mind until it turned feral and shed the last of its human belongings in the woods. To be honest, Stiles didn’t even know the thing had a bestiary. He was just experimenting with his non-physical magic.

 

He skims through entries until his dad comes home, and since the lock on his door no longer functions, he’s forced to hide it away when he hears the front door slam closed. He sweeps the fragments of the splintered bat under the bed using a pair of jeans, and with a second thought throws the shredded clothes off his body and kicks them under there too.

 

His dad walks into his room right as he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants. He stops to fiddle with the broken door knob that just loosely spins now instead of turning. “What the hell did you do to this thing?” Stiles freezes as his dad glances up then does a double take. His father’s in his personal space in a second, grabbing Stiles by his shoulders to forcefully examine him.

 

“What the hell is that? Who did this to you?” he demands.

 

And oh.

 

Oh shit.

 

Stiles didn’t even stop to think about his dumb ass fucking pale ass skin that bruises like a peach.

 

“I was helping Scott practise for lacrosse?” he tries weakly, flinching when his dad pokes a particularly sensitive spot on his neck.

 

That's from lacrosse?”

 

Stiles stumbles over to the mirror in the corner of his room, and his stomach falls out of his fucking ass. He has angry red welts all down the front of his chest in sets of five. And on top of the hickies scattered from his jaw to his shoulder, there’s a developing bruise in the very distinct shape of a hand around his throat, the tips of the fingers punctuated with five little cuts. He doesn’t even know when she did all of this. He doesn’t remember anything but the choking.

 

Stiles mentally assesses his options.

 

Option One: Tell his dad the truth. Never see the light of day again. Have all his freedom and magic paraphernalia stripped away from him.

 

Option Two: Tell his dad half of the truth, that supernatural creatures exist and have just his freedom stripped away.

 

Or, Option Three:

 

“I’m a sexual deviant.”

 

His dad doesn’t even flinch, staring him down like he’s a fucking idiot.

 

“This is a hickey,” he says honestly, pointing at his throat. He does his best to keep his demeanour innocent and open, eyes wide and making direct eye contact.

 

“And what’s that, then?” His dad motions to the purple ring around his neck with a raised brow.

 

“She choked me.”

 

She?”

 

“Dera.”

 

“Dera? Dera Hale?”

 

“How many people do you know named Dera?” Stiles asks before his dad snatches him up by the ear.

 

“If I hear anything, and I mean anything, from this girl’s parents, I will pistol whip your little punk ass right into a holding cell. Do you understand me?”

 

Stiles would nod, but his dad has a death grip on his ear and he quite values having it attached, so he settles for a rushed, “Yeah, yes. Of course.”

 

This seems to satisfy his dad, the man’s posture relaxing immediately as he lets go of Stiles and sticks his hands in his pockets with a proud smile.

 

“So, Dera Hale? Mayor’s daughter.”

 

“Yeah. She’s.... my girlfriend,” Stiles lies, not wanting to hint that there’s even a smidgeon of bad blood between him and Dera. He doesn’t even want to hint neutral blood. He knows his dad won’t actually pistol whip him, but belt-whip he would. That one’s a double punishment because Stiles can’t even enjoy the whipping sexually due to his dad being the one who’s doing the whipping.

 

“Do we need to have the talk?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Everything is.... safe.”

 

“Sane, and consensual,” he finishes for his dad before he can stop the words from slipping, and he doesn’t know what horrifies him more: the fact that he just said that or the fact that his dad knows what it means and returns the horrified look.

 

Stiles opens his mouth but his dad silences him with a wave of his hands that clearly says ‘I don’t ever want to know’.

 

And that’s completely fine with Stiles.

 

••••

 

The next two days are spent taking notes on every entry in the bestiary that mentions black eyes or freaky razor teeth. It would help if the damn thing was in alphabetical order or grouped by species so he could just look up his suspicions, but the chaosperson who wrote it didn’t use any sort of organisation system. Therefore, he’s resorted to writing every entry down that maybe sort of fits the situation.

 

So far he can only find things with either black eyes (ghouls, selkies, succubi, nagas, gargoyles) or sharp teeth (vampires, tiyanaks, dhampyrs, kanimas, wendigos), but nothing with the both of them.

 

He almost loses hope until he happens upon a page of the book with the header “Demonic Possession.”

 

Signs & Symptoms

  • Lapses in consciousness*
  • Lapses in memory*
  • Deviance
  • Mood swings (especially toward anger)
  • Increased aggression
  • Irritability
  • Violent thoughts/behaviour
  • Insomnia/Hypersomnia
  • Increased sexual behaviour
  • Vomiting, shaking, sweating, lost appetite, increased appetite
  • Insatiability*
  • Physical changes

○ Eye color: black, white, or red

○ Claws, talons, spear-like protrusions from hands or wrists

○ Fangs or razor-like teeth

○ Leathery wings

○ Pale or black skin

  • Heightened or muted senses
  • Abnormal strength or weakness
  • Clairvoyance*
  • Vocal splitting/shifting*
  • Speaking in tongues or dead languages*
  • Self mutilation*
  • Contortion*
  • Sudden death

 

○ At least one starred sign or symptom can indicate possession

○ More than 3 starred in combination — possession definite 

 

Stiles puts a check mark by every point that applies to Dera, pulse rabbiting by the time he’s finished and there are more items checked than not.

 

Possession definite.

 

Stiles keeps reading before he entirely freaks the fuck out.

 

Causes

○ Possession most often a result of mental vulnerabilities such as religious uncertainty or mental illness. Demons lacking a physical form, who take advantage of a weak host, generally do so because they are easily occupied and not for any other particular reason.

○ Meddling with the forces involved in life and death can occasionally cause possession, although it is rare due to avoidance caused by high risk of possession among other highly dangerous consequences. Resurrection attempts nearly always result in possession, unless executed by gods, angels, hell hounds, or banshees.

○ Magic can be utilitized to facilitate a demonic possession, purposefully or accidentally. Demonic possession is the intention of a multitude of rituals and spells, but is more often the result of a misperformance. Mistakes in translation, intonation, pronunciation, ingredients, artefacts/props, timing, location, and runes/symbols are most common.

 

SHITFUCKSHITFUCKSHITFUCK.

 

Stiles collapses back in his chair before he springs forward in a panic. He would scream if he wasn’t hyperventilating, if bile wasn’t threatening to rise in his throat and choke him. He counts to five while holding his breath then counts to five as he releases it, and when that doesn’t work he tries counting to ten, and then he just holds his breath until his lungs burn and his head throbs and his body is forced to override his brain, airway opening involuntarily so that oxygen floods his lungs.

 

He lays his head on the desk, a sob wracking through him. It’s not that he’s sad or anything. It’ll take a lot more than the guilt of getting some girl possessed to make him feel anything more than simple frustration. In fact, there’s only two things in the entire universe that can invoke anything close to sadness in him.

 

His panic attacks in the past were always associated with one of those two things. Until his mom died, or began the process of dying rather, he had never had a panic attack. His experiences with his mother from the day she got sick until the day she died were so traumatic that they literally left him with PTSD. His mother’s memory and grieving and panic attacks are so tightly associated in his mind that he can never have one without at least one of the others.

 

This— the crying? It can practically be reduced to muscle memory. And it feels good, so he lets it happen. Then, fifteen minutes later, after he’s gathered up the shreds of his dignity, he continues reading because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t fix this. He’s a mage goddammit.

 

Well. 

 

Almost.

 

He’s getting there.

 

What Can Be Done

○ All demons are tied to a religion because they are born of gods. Demons must be exorcised according to their specific religion of origin.

○ Abrahamic demons can be exorcised through traditional methods written in the Rituale Romanum.

Pagan demons are harder to exorcise due to the secrecy and/or total cleansing of many ancient Pagan religions. A ritual can be performed to determine the Pagan deity to which the demon is tied. (See Eógan Tierney’s Leabhar Scáileanna for the ritual.

 

Stiles jots down the name of the book. He’s heard of it a couple of times. Eógan Tierney was a powerful Celtic priest. An actual Druid. Not like Deaton or Morrell, who rarely do anything more interesting than grinding herbs. No. Tierney was an actual scary ass, baby-sacrificing, tree-worshipping Druid. He was probably the most powerful of his time due to the fact that he actually kept track of what he was doing unlike his peers who feared that keeping written records of their practises would make them too vulnerable should the wrong person come into possession of them.

 

He kept track of his work and knowledge in what modern magic users would call a book of shadows, but he called it his Book of Skulls. Because, again, he was a total psychopath. Like, on the Richter scale of what the fuck is wrong with you, he would register at a solid seven and a half.

 

Now, it’s time to pay a visit to Beacon Hills’ resident veterinarian.

 

••••

 

Deaton nearly calls the cops on him.

 

It’s no secret that the druid despises Stiles, which is to be expected what with Stiles breaking most of the honor code associated with practicing magic. There was a time when Stiles was actually his apprentice, but it got old quick relying on a vague-as-fuck, information-withholding dick. Like, Stiles is an asshole, but at least he’s pretty transparent about it. Deaton just acts like he’s nice and understanding when he’s actually a know-it-all jackass who only knows it all because he refuses to tell anyone else!

 

Stiles is delighted to find his favorite werewolf in the back, tending to a dog with cone around its head. Stiles briefly considers taunting it.

 

“Scotty boy!”

 

Scott’s head shoots up, an understandably tense look on his little wolfy face. “Stiles, what are you doing here?” The ‘you remember what happened the last time you were here?’ needn’t be said. Stiles doesn’t give a fuck.

 

“To what do I owe this visit, Stiles?” Deaton sighs as he follows Stiles through the doorway into the back room, tone as close to exasperation as his emotionless self can get.

 

“To make a long story short, I got a girl possessed.”

 

“Stiles!” Scott yells, while Deaton looks up at the ceiling as if any of the gods will offer their assistance. Honestly, it’s so not the appropriate response. The dude is a psychopath, Stiles is convinced.

 

Stiles pulls out his iPad, scrolling through his spells in the Notes app. “I used this one.” He turns it around so the man can see it.

 

“It’s a fairly simple ritual. As long as you didn’t change anything, it should have gone accordingly. You didn’t change anything, did you?” Deaton asks accusatorially, pretty much just letting Scott have free-reign over giving the dog a series of shots. Everyone trusts Scott.

 

“About that…” Stiles replies sheepishly, almost hesitant to say what he’s about to say in front of Scott. “I had planned to do it on the pentagram, as prescribed. But then we went on a date in the woods, and things just escalated, and there was no way in hell I was about to tell her to stop because good lord—“

 

“The point, Stiles. The point.”

 

“We did it on the Nemeton.”

 

And that actually makes Deaton’s eyes blow wide in horror.

 

“What’s the Nemeton?” Scott asks in the background.

 

Stiles turns to his bestie, trying to ignore the panic crawling up his spine by engaging in casual conversation. “It’s this thousand year old pagan holy site. Well, it was. They cut it-“

 

Stiles’ airway is suddenly cut off, the man grabbing him by the throat, literally throttling him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

 

Stiles would say something like ‘no, daddy, that’s why I’m here,” but he’s currently suffocating. Thankfully, Scott comes to his rescue, pulling the man’s hand off his throat. Deaton seems to snap out of his rage at the contact, turning around to take a breath and straighten his lab coat while Scott puts a comforting hand on his shoulder and asks if he’s alright.

 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Deaton grits out. He turns back around, lips twitching like he’s itching to say something that he doesn’t, before he takes a deep breath and releases it. “What you did… it constitutes as a sacrifice to the Nemeton.”

 

Stiles cringes because yeah, this is somehow turning out to be worse than he thought. “But I thought cutting it down killed it. Like, the wood is valuable for talismans and stuff, but other than that…” He trails off, not knowing what else to say, but feeling dumber by the word.

 

“It wasn’t dead, Stiles. It was dormant.”

Chapter Text

“How could you do this?! I thought you said you were done with magic?!”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked Scott to stay the night with him, but then again Stiles is a soft and squishy human and sometimes he needs his big bad wolf to protect him. At the very least, Scott is a valuable meat shield.

 

“Well, only eight percent of people actually follow through on their new year’s resolutions.”

 

“It was only two months ago!”

 

Stiles waves his hand in the air dismissively. He never had any intentions of stopping. He just wanted everyone off his dick about it.

 

“It’s Dera, isn’t it?”

 

Stiles almost swerves off the road in surprise. He’s genuinely surprised that Scott guessed it that quickly. Usually, he’s a couple steps behind, which gives Stiles a little more time to get away with whatever he’s up to before Scott catches on and tries to stop him.

 

“How did you know?”

 

“She told Harris to ‘eat her fucking ass’ and knocked back a beaker of buffer.”

 

Stiles barely contains the shocked laugh that bubbles up his throat. Scott gives him a disapproving look, but it’s ruined by Stiles full on laughing. A reluctant smile creeps onto Scott’s face, and that’s another reason why Stiles even bothers with Scott. The kid can’t hate him no matter what he does.

 

“So like, did you put a spell on her or something?” Scott asks, fiddling with the zipper of his backpack, and Stiles doesn’t quite know what he means by that.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“Like to get her to go on a date with you.”

 

And this time, Stiles almost veers off the road on purpose. “No, you jackass. I’ll have you know she went out with me willingly. I hand-selected her from a plethora of candidates because I knew she would say yes.”

 

“That’s a little presumptuous of you.”

 

Stiles and Scott both scream at the top of their lungs, Stiles slamming on the breaks. His tires skid on the wet pavement before the jeep jerks to a halt. They made it off of the wood-shrouded highway and into Stiles’ neighborhood about a minute ago, thank the gods. There are witnesses here.

 

“God dammit, Dera,” Stiles swears, heart racing a mile a minute. She must’ve gotten into the back of his jeep while he was in Deaton’s office. Why, oh why does she insist on sneak attacking him? Can she just kill him or whatever it is she intends to do without giving him a heart attack first?

 

Dera slinks forward, draping herself over the back of his seat. She runs her a fingernail up and down the shell of his ear as she speaks in a smooth and sensual voice, and Stiles isn’t entirely sure if it’s Dera or the demon drawling seductively in his ear. “How are you, beautiful?”

 

“Would be better without the jump scares.”

 

“You’re so funny. Anyways, I’ve been talking to it. The thing in my head, and it tells me that you did this to us. So, we were wondering if you wanted to die today.”

 

Stiles gulps. “Not particularly.”

 

“Then drive.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Wherever you keep your magic shit.”

 

••••

 

“Under your bed? Really?” Dera deadpans, unimpressed.

 

Stiles ignores her, pulling out the wooden box. It’s made out of mountain ash wood so in theory, neither Scott nor Dera’s plus one should be able to open it. Stiles, in all of his vigilance, has burned the words “spank bank” into the top so that if his dad were to ever stumble upon it, he wouldn’t even want to look inside. He’s even gone as far as to make a false bottom, the top half of the box actually containing printed off pictures of porn and a few nudie mags. He flips it over, clicking the latches and sliding the trap door off the bottom to reveal a bunch of spices and herbs in baggies, his jar of mountain ash, a couple sticks of chalk, a hard copy of his spell/notebook, and his bestiary. He has very limited resources being a sixteen year old apprentice mage with no one to guide him. He supposes that’s his fault though. In his defence, he hadn’t meant to turn one of Deaton’s feline patients into a lawn gnome when he wasn’t looking. It just happened.

 

Okay.

 

He meant to do it.

 

But still, he played the horrified and remorseful teenager role really well, and Deaton still had the audacity to drop him like a hot potato.

 

“Shut up.”

 

Dera gasps quietly, an unsettling smile stretching across her face. “That’s what you were doing when we caught you the other day.”

 

“Can you please stop referring to yourself in the plural? It’s really weird and makes it come off as if you like being possessed.”

 

“In some ways, I do. I slam dunked a basketball in Tori Wilkinson’s face today and threatened her into silence, so now she’s just walking around with a huge knot on her forehead. Good luck getting hoco court with that on your face, bitch.”

 

Scott makes a noise behind her, a frightened little ‘meep’. Man, sometimes Stiles thinks he keeps Scott around because the dude is just so damn adorable. It almost makes Stiles feel bad that all of his contingency plans involve using him as a meatshield.

 

“So you’re a werewolf. That sounds pretty cool. How does that happen?”

 

“Stiles took me out in the woods to look for a dead body and a psychotic alpha wolf bit me,” Scott replies ultra-honestly, as if he has any reason to trust Dera right now. Stiles isn’t even sure if it is Dera. He’s just hoping it is, because she doesn’t resemble the razor-toothed, black-eyed hellcreature she was that one time.

 

“Hmmm, Stiles taking innocent people out into the woods and horrible things happening to them. Seems like a recurring theme.”

 

Stiles makes an affronted noise while Scott speeds to his rescue, shooting the girl his version of a nasty glare. It’s still rather cute and unthreatening, but he’s doing his best.

 

“Stiles is my best friend,” Scott says firmly, as if it’s all she needs to know.

 

“That’s right, buddy!” Stiles sets the open box on his bed, trying not to let his eyes rest on the bestiary too long. It’s his most valuable and rare possession, and if she took it or harmed it in any way, he’d be devastated.

 

Dera pushes him aside, rifling through the case. She mutters something to herself in Latin, then a slightly distorted version of her voice whispers something back to her. It’s honestly kind of horrifying watching her talk to herself in two different voice and in a language he’s pretty sure she knew nothing about until a few days ago. Her eyes linger on the bestiary, before cutting to his carefully curated spell book, flipping through it carelessly. One of the hundreds of little slips of scribbled on paper tucked between the pages flutters out of the book, and Stiles has to bite his fist to stop himself from blasting her with energy and snatching the book up into his arms protectively.

 

“Where is your anchor?” Dera growls in frustration, holding up one of the vials and examining it before throwing it back into the box so hard it almost shatters.

 

“My....” Stiles trails off, a horrified squeak that he will never own up to coming out of his mouth. “You’re trying to destroy my magic?!”

 

“You’re dangerous. You don’t deserve it.”

 

“Well ha, ha. Jokes on you, stupid cunt.” Stiles flinches away from the aggressive move she makes at him, but plows on nonetheless. “You’ll never find it. As if I would ever keep it within spitting distance of my house.”

 

Dera flicks her wrist without blinking, suspending Stiles in the air by what feels like his neck if the feeling of suffocating means anything. Scott tackles her in an instant and Stiles falls to a heap on top of both of them as they scuffle, rolling around in different conformations of pain, tangled around one another, so when his dad opens the door, all three of them freeze and look up with caught looks on their faces.

 

His dad raises both his eyebrows at them in pure shock— Scott on his back restraining Dera with his arms looped around hers while Stiles is straddling her lap with his hands around her neck. It’s a compromising position to say the very least.

 

“Sheriff Stilinski!” Dera smiles winningly before his father has the chance to start screaming and pistol whipping. Stiles thinks his dad was exaggerating with that, but he might have been serious. She relaxes her body between them, head resting against the curve of Scott’s neck, while Scott’s arms wrap around her chest as if he was hugging her. Dera slings her newly freed arms around Stiles’ neck, and isn’t this just horrifying.

 

A red blush that Stiles has never seen spreads from his father’s neck to his hairline. “Dera. Scott. Stiles.“ That’s all he says before turning around and leaving, but not without pausing to point at the door and say, “This stays open.”

 

As soon as he gone, Dera grabs Stiles by the neck while Scott starts digging his claws into her shoulders.

 

“Let him go!”

 

“Eat my fucking ass!”

 

Stiles grabs Dera’s hands sending an electric shock through her that accidentally transfers to Scott too, both of them howling in pain and flipping Stiles off of them. Stiles focuses his energy, imagines Dera handcuffed to the floor, and sighs in relief when he sees 4 bands of light binding her to the scuffed hardwood.

 

“Dera, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he whispers in her face, kneeling beside her head. “First of all, keep it fucking down because my dad doesn’t know anything, and he’s not about to find out from you.” Dera rolls her eyes. “And second, I can’t believe you’re listening to that pile of rotting sulphur.” Dera makes a distorted noise that sounds like offence. So that must be the demon. Stiles slaps her in the face to send the demon back, Dera yelping at the stinging mark as she returns. “If you destroy my magic, I can’t reverse the spell or do whatever the fuck I need to do.”

 

Don’t listen to h-

 

Stiles slaps her again, Dera gurgling in pure rage as the demon slips away just fast enough again and makes her deal with the pain. What a bitch ass little demon. Coward.

 

“Do it again,” Dera growls, craning her back up at him to snap her teeth in his face. Stiles bets she would make a pretty good werewolf. Maybe he should call up Deucalion when this is all over and see if Dera would be up for werewolf powers as reparations so she doesn’t go around besmirching his name. Hush powers.

 

“I will if I have to.”

 

“I’ll tear your throat out. With my teeth.”

 

Scott gapes at Stiles from where he’s stood at Dera’s feet. Okay, so he doesn’t have proper fear responses all the time. Who fucking does? She didn’t suddenly stop being his type. She’s still hot and mean. He would love to bust on her tits in the future when there’s not a demon trying to hijack her body. And his scent probably conveys all of that and more right now.

 

“Promise?” Stiles smirks, grabbing his backpack off the floor. He digs around in the front pocket, a rogue pencil stabbing him before his hand triumphantly resurfaces with the syringe Deaton had given him.

 

He jabs it into her jugular, emptying the whole thing into her vein. He steps back right as she starts convulsing. A black liquid pours out of her eyes

 

Witch-hazel, mistletoe, and sea salt. That should keep the demon at bay for a couple days. “At bay” more like “weaken it so it can’t use its sith force powers.”

 

“Dude, you killed her!” Scott yells just a touch too loud, immediately withering under Stiles’ murderous glare.

 

“She’s not dead,” he whispers, grabbing the shreds of his shirt from the other day and using it to wipe the black off her. “Put her on the bed. She’ll be back in like an hour.”

 

“Back from where?”

 

“I don’t know. Wherever one goes when they’re poisoned with mistletoe? Help me get her on the bed.”

 

••••

 

It’s a solid two hours of internal panicking that maybe he fucked up before Dera rolls over in his bed, vomiting a splatter or black goop across the floor before flopping back and groaning.

 

“My mouth tastes like a Christmas wreath.”

 

Scott’s beside her in a flash, holding her hand and offering her the glass of water that he’d been nervously sipping on while Stiles typed up a report at his desk. Dera takes it without question and gulps the whole thing down.

 

Stiles leisurely spins around in his chair, eyes rolling at Scott before landing on the mess in the floor. “That’s disgusting.”

 

“Thanks for the concern, dickhead.”

 

“Hey, I’m the good guy here. I could let the demon run away with your meatsuit, but I’m helping you out of the goodness of my heart.”

 

You have no heart,” the demon growls, Dera’s laughter cutting through the room afterwards. It’s kinda hella scary to watch them interact like they’re old pals and not a host and a parasite.

 

“Are you alright?” Scott asks, ignoring them both (Stiles and Dera)…. Or rather them all (Stiles, Dera, and Demon McDemonPants). Yuck.

 

“Yeah, I mean, yeah,” Dera smiles at him, her eyebrow lifted all pretty in a way that communicates something that Stiles absolutely is not going to let happen in this universe or timeline.

 

He grabs a towel from his laundry hamper (yes he has one, he just elects not to use it), and throws it on top of her vomit beside Scott, stomping on it loudly. He plasters on a smile and stares Scott dead in the eyes as he stomps the towel with a little more force than necessary, grinding the heal of his sneaker into it for emphasis in case Scott was confused about what he’s miming.

 

Scott backs off Dera, going to the other side of the room to piddle through the bestiary while Stiles cleans up the vomit before it stains the wood.

 

“Subtle, Stiles.”

 

“Subtlety isn’t really your thing anyway.”

 

Dera’s jaw ticks to the side in annoyance, a wry smile spreading across her lips. “Oh, and now you know what I like?”

 

“Got your pants off once, didn’t I?” Stiles grins up at her.

 

The girl snorts, falling back into bed as he opens the window and throws the towel out. He’ll burn it later. Scott wrinkles his nose in disgust as Stiles passes him, pulling his phone out. Stiles’ own vibrates in his pocket.

 

From: Potato
To: God
She likes when ur mean to her
I can smell it

 

Stiles smirks, collapsing in his desk chair and spinning around to face Dera, who is apparently spending the night. It’s already nine-thirty, and the streets of Beacon Hills aren’t entirely safe for something as young and pretty as Stiles. (Or Dera. Scott could probably defend himself.)

 

“So, I take it you’re staying the night?”

 

“I’m sure not going home. My mom and sisters don’t deserve to deal with anymore of this bullshit— It’s not bullshit!— Yes, it is!” Dera somehow manages to glare at herself, the demon receding back from whence it came. She turns her attention back to Stiles and Scott who stare at her in horror.

 

“What?”

 

“You should probably stop talking to it.”

 

You should probably stop talking to it,” the thing repeats in a dummy voice, Dera’s tongue hanging out and gumming up the words.

 

“Are you seriously mocking me?” Stiles turns to Scott with an incredulous look. “It’s mocking me.”

 

She’s. I’m a pretty girl.”

 

“No, you’re just wearing a pretty girl.”

 

“Dude, don’t misgender the demon,” Scott whispers behind him.

 

The thing (because it’s not even a person) grumbles, pushing Dera back to the front. Stiles really wants to figure out how this works. Is there some cheesy ass internal battle for dominance, or is one of them in control? Not to discredit the demon being, ya know, a demon, but if Stiles had to place a bet on who’s in control, he would say it’s Dera, and she’s only letting the thing get its two cents in as a courtesy.

 

“Scott, what’s your mom working tonight?”

 

“She’s working eleven to nine. Why?” Scott replies so very openly.

 

“Because I can’t ask my dad for you to stay here because I already told him we’re having really kinky sex—“ Dera makes a noise of protest, but Stiles talks over her, “— which technically we are, so here’s what’s going to happen: You’re going to leave. Walk to the end of the block. When you’re there, text me. Then, Scott and I will say we’re going to his house. We’ll pick you up on the way, and you’re going to go to the treehouse in his backyard for an hour and a half until his mom leaves. I’ll bring you a snack or something. Whatever. It’ll all work out. We just have to get her out of there before your mom gets there tomorrow.”

 

“Sometimes, I forget you’re actually smart,” Dera comments, standing up and stretching. And wow, those jeans are obscenely tight on her very muscular thighs. Dera is smirking by the time his eyes finish their leisurely journey up her body to her face, and Stiles doesn’t know why he’s actually embarrassed at having been caught. It’s not like he hasn’t literally busted a nut inside her. Multiple times.

 

And, if all goes well, he will do it again. Even though he kind of doesn’t like her now (due to the whole threatening his life thing), he kind of likes her a lot too (also due to the whole threatening his life thing). It has been well established that things that scare him also turn him on, and Dera as a baseline is terrifying even when she’s not demonically possessed.

 

But before any more nut busting, he has to exorcise the demon that’s trying to take over her (banging, beautiful, amazing, talented, intelligent, funny) body.

 

Before he runs out of poison.

 

Fingers crossed.